


The Deduction of Rose

by TempestHolmes



Category: Doctor Who, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-27
Updated: 2014-03-03
Packaged: 2018-01-13 22:57:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 42,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1243690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TempestHolmes/pseuds/TempestHolmes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After losing her Meta-crisis Doctor, Rose uses an altered dimension cannon to get him back, but ends up in the living room of Sherlock Holmes. Stuck in the new universe can Rose help Sherlock be that bit more human? And can Sherlock help her move on from her loss? Or will Mycroft decide she is just what he needs. Spoilers for season 3</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Non-Sentient Cannon

“I'm bored!” shouted Sherlock, flicking rubber bands at a fly darting around the ceiling.  
“Then find a case” shouted back John from the kitchen.  
“Or a window to jump out of.” Sherlock muttered.

-s-s-s-

Tears streamed down Roses cheeks as she stared at the small yellow and grey machine in her hand. The Doctor had taken up again the name of John McCrimmon, as homage to his old life and tribute to their travels together. She still called him the Doctor, had made improvements on it. It was smaller, lighter and now had a neural component. It was never meant to work; he’d never planned on letting anyone using it. Rose dropped it to the floor and slid to her knees, slumping forward she sobbed into her hands.

He should be here; they’d gone through so much after that day on a beach in Norway, left to their own fate by the last Time Lord in existence. They’d set up his name, gotten him work in the R&D in Torchwood, and slowly, so achingly slowly, they had created a relationship. She gazed around their apartment, papers on every surface, parts and wires scattered around the grey carpet. She was forever stepping on them and cursing, only to have him come running, spouting apologies, to pick up said wire or part. Only to then put it down somewhere else! The wall of windows he’d loved so much stood to her right, the view helping him feel less trapped. It had been a month and still she hadn’t been able to face his room. They had separate rooms still, oh they had hugged and kissed but he had needed a space he could retreat to when the silence in his mind had become too much and commune with the tiny coral that would be their TARDIS one day.

The coral had died the day her Doctor had.

  
Posters covered the wall to her left, framing the door to the back rooms. The Doctor had been so happy to discover Sir Arthur Conan Doyle had lived in this universe as well, his works just as venerated. There were no TV shows here of Sherlock, there were plays. Amazing, colourful plays with talented actors and beautiful stages. The Doctor had gone to see each play twice. He had collected posters from each play, all signed by whatever actors he could corner into doing so. There last conversation had been about the new play they had been going to see that night. Rose had rolled her eyes, thoroughly sick of sitting and watching the stage, but happy to see him so happy.

  
“Aw common Rose” whined the Doctor, “You’ll love ‘The Adventure of the Empty House’ Sherlock comes back to life! I mean how often does that happen?!” Rose raised an eyebrow.

  
“OK well, to other people then.” He hedged. A manic grin spread across his face, “We’ll get chips after.” He promised, bouncing slightly on his heels.

  
Rose rolled her eyes, “Alrigh’ but you’re paying.” She shook her head and turned to head to the garage beneath the building. She had needed to pick up her mum and Pete from a meeting with the President. They could have had a proper driver do it but Rose didn’t get to see her mum much, too much time spent saving the world she thought wryly.

  
“Hang on!” called the Doctor, moving after her. “I’ll hardly see you today” He said, motioning to his busy lab, “Come here,” he had said and pulled her in to a crushing hug. Pressing the side of his face into her hair he breathed her in and said quietly “I love you.”  
She stepped back half a pace and looked up to him with shinning eyes.

  
“I love you too.” She gave him a small kiss on the lips and holding him tight a moment longer, always marvelling that she could do so now, before pulling away and giving him a smile.

  
“I’ll see you at the theatre,” she had promised and went through the door to the car park, getting in the 4-wheel drive. She pulled through the guarded gates and drove away, little knowing she would never see her Doctor again.

  
The attack had come when she was hardly a few miles away; thunder had reverberated through the air, a shudder running through the ground beneath her car a few moments later. Rose had pulled the car over on to the pavement and jumped out, looking back to where the noise had come from behind her. She had stood frozen in horror as the tall Torchwood building in the distance was consumed in flame and crumbled in on its self.

  
“No” she had whispered, “No, no, no, no!” she ended in a shout, Spinning around and hurtling herself back in to the large vehicle. She jerked the car back on to the road and sped back to the collapsed building. Glancing up she saw a space craft, a huge space craft, move its power thrusters back into position to leave the atmosphere, accelerating, it shot into space, but not fast enough. Three beams of green light shot up from the earth, condensed into one and shot towards the alien space craft, destroying it. Rose felt a surge of satisfaction though she would never normally condone the action, looking for a peaceful solution to most situations; she knew in her heart what the result of the alien’s action was, what her mind had refused to accept from the moment Rose had seen the tower collapse.

  
Arriving at the scene Rose had been met with chaos. Nothing but fine rubble was left, the laser had been designed, she found out later, to nearly atomise the structure from the inside out. Every person lost, not a body to recover or paper to be found. They hadn’t even known it had hit them, let alone had time to defend against it. Rose had lost her Doctor again.  
Clasping the cannon in her hands again, Rose looked to the door in front of her, a medium sized backpack sat on either side. Go-bags she had called them. One for each of them, next to the door with everything they might need in an emergency, ready to grab on the way out the door, on the way to whatever had been deemed an emergency on that particular day. As Rose gazed to them her mind gained grief tainted clarity, he had to be out there somewhere. Her Doctor was always there, in some way or another and she just had to find him.

  
Crawling over to their packs, Rose pulled open her own and spilled the contents onto the floor, grabbing any items she thought might be needed she shoved them into the Doctors pack; he would need it when she found him. Looking up to the nearby table Rose grabbed a picture of the two of them and put it in too, they would need a reminder of their time here. Grabbing a note book from the table Rose scribbled a note to her mother. Telling her she loved her and would miss her but she was going to find the Doctor and be happy again. She told her to tell Tony of her and that she loved him. Telling Pete she was glad to have had him as her father she then signed the note and put it on the kitchen bench, by the bowl of bananas.  
Doing up the pack Rose slung the single strap over her head and it settled across her chest diagonally, a pack well designed to have minimal impact on running and fighting with it on if needed. It was, however much too big so Rose drew it back over her head and settled it on one shoulder. Running the last conversation she’d had with her Doctor through her mind, Rose put the chain over her head and rested the cannon on her chest; she clasped the cannon and thought desperately on their conversation. Pulling in a deep breath Rose pressed the button.

  
Now the cannon was not a sentient piece of machinery, it was simply made to assess the wearers surface thought and find a match in a close by universe. It was made to be very good at complicated calculations and required a huge amount of power. The small battery the Doctor had placed in the cannon had been soniced to be very powerful but could be used only once and was not very stable. This was part of the reason it was never meant to be used. But the cannon was not sentient. When it could not find a face to match the one in Roses mind the cannon looked for a voice match. Again there was nothing, a flicker of possibility was found and lost again as the potential match was engulfed in golden light ending with a scream that did not match the vocal patterns in Rose’s memory. So the cannon defaulted to the only other option there was. The topic of the conversation running through Rose’s head.

  
A Sherlock Holmes was found in a universe close to Roses’ in relative time and a world similar to her own. Deeming this result to be sufficient the cannon located an atom sized hole that would lead to the universe and latched onto it. With exact precision the cannon pulled Rose apart with a puff of silver and fed her, atom by atom, through the hole. Once inside the universe the cannon rebuilt Rose, each cell just as it had been. Once Rose was complete the cannon, with the last of its power, displaced Rose from her random floating somewhere in the universe to the space closest to its target.

  
With a clap like thunder ringing in her ears the silver faded from Rose’s vision.  
“John, stay back!” called a voice, slightly deep and accented, cultured.

  
John! Thought Rose, she had found him! “Doctor!” she called spinning around, as the cannon gave one last sputter and shorted out, giving Rose enough of a zap that her exhausted body decided it had simply had enough for one day and promptly collapsed.

  
Sherlock, who was standing in the same spot he had leapt up to from his chair when the thunder like sound had shaken the flat, looked to the shocked John who had run over at the thundering sound. His jaw currently inspecting the carpet for dust bunnies as he gaped at the girl lying in the middle of their living room.

  
“Were you expecting someone?”


	2. Oddity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Sorry for not having a note on the first page, I was too excited to actually be posting the page and forgot it completely. This story takes place after Sherlock’s return from the dead. Some events of season 3 will be featured in my story so spoilers of said season apply. Thank you very much to those who left reviews, it always helps to have them 

Chapter 2. Oddity.

Surprisingly John regained his wits first. He bent down to the blonde, pulled forward ever so slightly by a dip that had somehow been made under the girl, woman, he corrected himself as he shifted her hair to check her pulse.

“Pulse is steady, breathing normal. Very tired looking though, bit thin.” He remarked, making his way down to the strange necklace lying on her chest. A small tendril of smoke curled up from the blackened and cracked yellow circle in the middle of the grey, well he guessed device. Seeing as he had heard it let a crack of electricity out. He poked it gingerly, wondering if it would zap him too. After not receiving the expected jolt, John quickly grabbed the device and looped the chain gently under her head and slid it away, just in case. Laying the woman’s head on to the pillow he grabbed from his chair, he gave the rest of her a once-over but could find no further reason for unconsciousness. A small circular burn rested exact center of her chest, just at the top of her cleavage. That would be a scar for life he mused.

John stood back up, “I can’t find any injuries other than a small burn. She should wake up soon; it didn’t seem like a large shock.” He looked towards Sherlock, who hadn’t so much as twitched since his wry question.

Sherlock had, in fact, not even drawn a breath since his aforementioned question. He was much too busy examining this odd occurrence to do something as boring as breath. The odd wave that had gone through the air in the room, as the silver light had flashed and the thunder like sound had shaken the flat, still tingled in his extremities. The smell of ozone, like the aftermath of a storm, permeated the room, the carpet slanted slightly towards the unconscious person gracing the floor of his living room. The tiniest webbing of cracks wound along the roof directly above where the girl had appeared, suggesting some kind of force accompanied her arrival, despite her lack of movement in arriving. Having gained little of help from the deduction of the changes to the room from her arrival, Sherlock shifted his attention to said arrival, just as John moved his hand to the device on her chest.

The device was clearly no longer functioning and so could be more fully investigated later, but brief glance told Sherlock it was clearly used to activate something and that insufficient power, not to mention the acrid smell of a burnt out battery, meant it was of no use any longer. Looking back to the woman again, he really should be more focused, he started from the top and worked his way to her feet in less than three seconds. By the time he was done he felt a rare and exciting feeling, bafflement.

Her long hair, bleached blond in the last two inches said lower class, the rest of her hair was a well-integrated blend of golden brown and light soft blond, a well done stylists job, not a home job like the ends. About a months’ worth of growth at the roots, a week more that generally allowed before those of wealth went for re-dying, telling him something had prevented her return to the stylist. Her eyes were red rimmed and puffy, she had been crying recently. Chafing, both healing and new under her nose said she had been crying on and off for days. A man’s bag still hooked around her left arm seemed full and worn, scuff marks on its base and settling bulge creases indicating it sat on the ground for long periods. Several different shades of mud and dirt and a few descending water-stain patterns, indicating rain, said the owner of the bag used it in different conditions, a few singes and what looked like a repaired bullet hole said those conditions might be dangerous. A black leather jacket, fleece lined said it was meant for wind and cold, loose to move in easily but a zip and buttons to close it tight, designed for weather similar to London. A light pink tank top under the unzipped jacket said she had been inside before she had appeared in such a dramatic fashion. Plain black, slightly tight jeans and new but worn trainers finished her attire, the jeans worn slightly at the knees and hems.

She spent a great deal of time in those shoes, the oddly even wear indicating diverse movements but slightly more wear on the right foot under the right little toe area said she was right handed, that was her lead foot and she knew how to use a gun, spent time with it in that hand, lending slightly more weight. That side held the gun forward, leaned forward slightly to allow fast forward movement. Slight calluses in the woman’s right hand backed this observation up. She was well muscled but slim overall, lightly tanned, no dents in her fingers to indicate much desk time.

There was something missing though, Sherlock could tell she was fit, had an active job, knew some form of defence, held a weapon with regularity, and had had little money until approximately two years ago, but her parents had come into it, not her. Her clothes were expensive but chosen for functionality and cared for, not replaced. She had seen perhaps a warzone as John had but he couldn’t be sure. Something was off though! A few small scars, not brawlers scars thought, fighters scars. There was something different about her. Something he could not quiet identify.

His brows scrunched up with irritation, dropping down to one knee he laid the other arm over the upright knee and examined her more closely. Touching the wear in the fabric of her jeans at her hip he concluded a gun was normally clipped there but brought his hand back quickly, the material felt wrong. Looking closer he realised all the materials were strange. There was no material in London he did not know, but this was different. His tactile hands skimmed the tank top quickly and brushed down the jacket arm, all of the fabrics were off, something not quite right about each. Every sense told Sherlock this woman was Different, his mind even capitalising the word. Something about her just didn’t belong. Even the scent coming from her skin was foreign.

The girl stirred under his hand and he drew it back quickly so as not to be seen as invading her space, they had no way to know how she would react.

“Doctor” she moaned, blinking her eyes a few times.

“Yes, I'm a doctor.” Said John gently, “Are you hurt anywhere?” she turned her head slightly to peer at him. “My name is John, we won’t hurt you.”

She slowly raised her right arm, closest to him and brushed a single finger over his cheek.

“A doctor?” she asked stilting her words slightly, “Not The Doctor? Not my John?” a tear leaked from the corner of her eye.

“I’m sorry, I don’t think I know you,” he said, feeling oddly like he was letting her down. “I'm a doctor and my name is John but we haven’t met.” Her arm dropped to the floor suddenly, like she had lost the will to hold it up.

“Not my Doctor.” She whispered in an aching voice. She shifted her gaze to the man on her left. “Where am I?” she asked in a soft voice.

The cracked whisper of the woman’s voice elicited an unknown emotion in Sherlock, she was so sad and broken, seeming like her life had nothing left in it.

“London, Baker Street, 221B”

The dark and gravelly voice skittered down Rose’s spine. Familiarity tickled at her mind. “Who are you?” she asked. Looking first to the man with the dark hair then back to the doctor.

“My name is Dr John Watson that is Sherlock Holmes.” He said indicating to the man on her left. “What is your name?” he asked.

Oh the irony she thought, a universe without her beloved Doctor but with his favorite fictional characters. He was gone, her Doctor, the last chance she had of finding him, getting him back and it had failed.

“Crap.” She muttered, grief clouding her mind again at the reminder of her loss and the realization that that fact would never change. Her exhausted mind buckled under the onslaught of distress and slid back to the comfort of unconsciousness. “Rose.” She breathed out as her eyes closed.

Both men leaned back slightly, both having curved in towards the woman to catch her last word.

“Well we better get her to a hospital.” Stated John getting to his feet and reaching for his phone.

“No,” said Sherlock, getting to his feet. ‘This woman, Rose, appeared out of nowhere, in a flash of light. Something is going on here, some trick or mystery, but a case either way. I don’t want Mycroft getting his hands on this one, there is something odd here. She will most likely vanish if anyone else gets wind of this.”

“But Sherlock, she needs monitoring!” exclaimed John, “We have no idea what she has been through or even anything about her.” “Exactly! This one is fascinating, not at all ordinary.” Jumping in excitement of the unusual case presented before him. “I see nothing to indicate serious injury or illness, just exhaustion and slight dehydration by the light papery texture of the skin on the back of her hand, nothing some rest and fluids won’t fix.”

John shook his head in resignation, Sherlock was right, as per bloody usual, the woman seemed in no immediate danger. “Alright, we’ll put her on the couch with a light blanket and get some water into her.”

He bent as if to pick her up but Sherlock, discerning his movements as his muscles shifted to make them, ducked down faster, onto one knee and sliding gentle hands under Roses knees and neck. He was disturbingly drawn to this mysterious woman. Drawn in a different way than he had been to the other mysterious woman he had known, Ms Adler had been shrewd and calculated, a purposely cultivated mystery, just for him. This woman, Rose, was something different, he could feel every sense saying so. Flexing his shoulders and legs Sherlock lifted Rose with deceptive ease and paced over to the couch. Laying her down with almost tender movements, Sherlock considered Roses face a moment longer before turning back to John.

Said doctor was looking on, eyes wide in shock and jaw again inspecting the carpet, as he watched the actions of his friend. Since when had Sherlock been one for such a seemingly personal, caring movement? He blinked and shut his mouth. No that was silly, he thought. Sherlock had caring, and his own, ahem, very unique way of showing it.

“Let’s get to work.” Said Sherlock with a grin clapping his hands together. “This one will be fun! Call Lestrade and bring him over, have him bring a case file for you to look at.”

“What? Why am I looking at another case? I thought we just got one dropped on us?” replied John confused.

“We did, but Mycroft’s minions will have undoubtedly noted the shaking building and will be watching for unusual activity. So have him bring some case file or another in as reason to drop by, we can apprise him of the situation and you can accompany the good DI to the station and find out what you can about our guest.” Explained Sherlock impatiently as he surveyed the windows for external activity and drawing the curtains slightly. He turned to John again.

“Why are you still here?” he said in his usual brisk manner, rude it’s commonly called. “I shall try to get some fluids into our Miss Rose and begin a discreet internet search.”

John blinked at the possessive pronoun. He opened his mouth to comment but Sherlock had already moved past him to the kitchen, clearly in deep thought, forgetting John completely. John shook his head and moved to the stairs, grumbling the whole way down and out the front door about detectives much to accustomed to getting their own way. He’d stop by his house first, and tell Mary about the whole situation. Having at least one other female around when Rose woke up was probably a good idea, besides Sherlock wouldn’t know how long he was gone, hell a green monkey could pop out of the fire place with a Santa hat on and Sherlock wouldn’t notice at the moment.


	3. Want Cake With That?

John stood outside the door a moment and took a deep breath of air. He was still a moment, in a rare ray of sunshine before breathing deep again and going back in the door, standing at the bottom of the stairs he typed in the number for DI Lestrade.

Lestrade looked at his ringing phone phone to see John’s name pop up and groaned. His answer of the ringing was abrupt.

“Oh what is it now? I haven’t got anything for him, if I get a nice murder I’ll be the first to let him know but for Christ’s sake leave me alone till then!” John waited patiently for the harassed detective to finish, Sherlock had been persistent of lately, to say the least.

“We have a case,” said John, “But we need some help on it.”

The DI looked at the phone in disbelief for a moment before returning it to his ear. “I don’t have the time to waste on Sherlock pretending he needs me so that he can show off something he’s figured out.” Slapping his hand on to his desk he said, “I’ve got more paper work here than I can do in a bloody life time so Ill thank you not to add to it.”

John again waited for the rant to finish before giving Lestrade a rundown of the recent events in a few short sentences.

“Huh,’ Came the eloquent answer. “Hang on!” he exclaimed as the story started to sink in, “If this is some joke or Sherlock is making things up…”

“No it’s very true, I was there, I checked her over myself.  She is real and we both saw what happened.”

“Christ it’s like bloody Baskerville all over again. Alright I’ll give it twenty minutes and bring one of these files over,” “See all this for myself.” He muttered almost to himself

“Say nothing to Mycroft if he calls.” Warned John.

“Yea cause that bastard is so easy to lie to, I just won’t answer the phone. See you soon.”

John hung up and turned back to the stairs, oh the fun of sitting in the quiet while Sherlock wandered around his mind palace. One of these days, John thought, he is going to think so hard I’ll be able to smell it cooking.

-s-s-s-

John sat in his chair reading the paper, flicking his glance occasionally over to the sleeping Rose, he figured it must be her name, why else would she have said it. Just as often he looked over at Sherlock, who stood staring at her from near the table filled with books and his laptop. Fingers steepled beneath his chin and a look of intense concentration on his face, Sherlock hadn’t so much as moved a finger in ages.

“You’re going to burn holes in her at that rate Sherlock.” John remarked looking back to his paper.

“What a ridiculous colloquialism.” Sherlock stated bluntly, never wavering his gaze from Rose.

John quirked his mouth to one side at the insult, not very well thought out on Sherlock's part, but he was glad he had managed to make sure Sherlock hadn’t been so deep in his in mind that outside stimulus was no longer registering.

Having now read the same small article twice John folded the paper and let out a sigh, rubbing his face in his hands and wishing Lestrade would hurry up. The poor girl would be a pile of ash if something didn’t distract Sherlock soon.

In answer to his thought the front door could be heard to swing open and slam shut again, feet thudded up the stairs. Lestrades coat flared out slightly as he took the last set of stairs two at a time.

“Alright then, what do we have here?” he puffed out, coming to stand next to Sherlock, throwing the random case file on to the book strew table. John stood up and joined them. The three men stared at the woman on the couch for a moment, as though she would pop awake suddenly and hand them a neat pile of papers with all their answers on them. After a moment Sherlock moved forward with the DI’s phone to take a picture of the sleeping woman’s face.

“Damnit Sherlock, I told you to stop picking my pockets.” Lestrade sighed in resignation as he held his hand out for it back. Sherlock snapped the picture and tossed the phone over his back for the DI to catch.

“The day you catch me doing it is the day I’ll stop” replied Sherlock with his typical arrogance still bent over Rose.

“Yeah, yeah.” Muttered Lestrade shaking his head, he pocketed the phone after saving the picture.

“Turn off your phone until you return to the station then print out the picture as soon as you arrive,” instructed Sherlock, “Connect the phone to a non-networked computer and, via cable not wireless, print the picture and immediately delete it. Do not give the picture to your cronies to find, look through the missing persons yourself to identify her.” He drew a breath. “Start with the most recent as she does not look to be starved, mistreated or like she has been under any extreme stress, indicating she has recently left, or been removed from her previous situation. It is unlikely if she were kidnapped that it was very long ago, as I have not heard any news on kidnapping or been called in on such a case and her accent indicated past travel but current residency in London.” Sherlock stopped pacing and looked up at the silence from the other man. Only to see Lestrade standing in the same spot, staring at him with what Sherlock could only describe as stupefaction. Admittedly not an uncommon expression on people around who were around him for any length of time.

“An what? You want me to make you a cake too? I don’t have the time for this Sherlock, I’ve got actual crimes to solve, I'm not here to run searches for you into some mystery appearing woman who doesn’t even have a name to go on!”

Sherlock straitened from his slightly hunched pacing position, his brows drawn together in consternation. Voice raised Sherlock said,

“Her name is Rose, she managed to appear in this house in a way I have never encountered before,” indicating to the slight dip in the floor where Rose had appeared. “She was in distress and looking for someone, we were unable to ascertain any further information from her as her emotional distress became too much for her conscious mind to cope with. Her arrival shook this house, spider web cracking in the roof, indicating a powerful displacing force was used, very accurately by the way” pointing to the slight trickle of dust coming from the now cracked roof. “We do not know if this force relates to a weapon, she seems to have military training, knows how to use a gun and her muscular build says she can use several different forms of martial arts with passable efficiency. Other than that we know next to nothing about this girl, I cannot run the necessary searches from this house as they will be detected.” Taking a breath Sherlock lowered his voice from the near shout it had become. “As such I require a search that can be done and easily buried under all the network noise of a place such as a police station.”

The DI’s face had regained its stupefied look.

“There is too much unknown about this case to allow it to fall into the hands of my brother, I do not believe this to be the result of a weapon, but we must be sure.”

“Wait, you’re not sure of something?” asked Lestrade in surprise, seeming to be jolted into awareness again.

“There is much I'm unsure of in this case.” Admitted Sherlock with extreme reluctance and turning to look again at the face of their predicament. “I can ascertain very little from this woman of much value. But everything is telling me there is something different about this case, something new, something we have never seen before.” Back to nearly twitching in his excitement Sherlock turned from regarding the woman curled on the couch, “So if you would please be off and attend to that, and take John with you so he can return with your prompt results.” His ego firmly back in place, Sherlock turned and stepped to the window to inspect the streets again.

Never had the dust bunnies on the floor gotten so much attention. Greg scraped his jaw from the ground and spun for the door shouting,

“Oh for shit’s sake fine! But damnit you owe me for this Sherlock!” he thundered down the stairs without so much as a glance back. John watched the DI leave and turned to Sherlock.

“You know one of these days he’ll just tell you to go to hell.”

“Most likely but he will still do as I ask.” Replied Sherlock without shifting his gaze. John snorted and shook his head, grabbing the case file he turned to follow the DI, “Get some water into her.” He stated and left.

Trudging out the door to the police car he opened the door and got in.

“I swear, just looking at him makes me want to punch him!” huffed Lestrade.

“I did that, very cathartic.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes head-butted him too, can we stop at my house please, I need to get Mary.”

“Alrigh” sighed the DI. Changing gears he pulled the car out into traffic.

-s-s-s-

Trotting up the few steps of the stoop to his house John unlocked his front door and entered, calling out “Mary, can you come here please?”

A faint voice called from upstairs, “Coming.” The sound of a door shutting then thundering as Mary descended the stairs, turning a corner and continuing down more stairs, she came to a stop in front of John. With a smile and a little jump she threw her arms around John and gave him a hug. Still grinning Mary pulled back slightly to look up at him.

“What’s up?” she queried. He pulled back a little and cleared his throat, reminding himself to stay focused.

“We have a case.” He stated seriously.

“Oh do ‘we’ now?” asked Mary as she pulled away and turned to the door way that lead to the kitchen, she had a feeling his tone meant tea would be wise choice to accompany this conversation.

After giving Mary the run-down of the situation she was glad for her tea. She leaned her elbows down on to the bench top, staring at the cup between her hands.

“It all sounds very odd.” She stated. “Was there any indication you and Sherlock had been drugged?” John blinked, considering the question. Running over how he felt now, had felt then, the time prior to the mysterious appearance and anything that might have seemed out of place.

“No, I don’t think so.” he answered wondering why Sherlock hadn’t seemed to consider that possibility as well.

“Well it sounds set up to me, and you left his nibbs there all alone?” Mary stood up straight suddenly, “You didn’t call Lestrade or Mycroft?”

“No, Sherlock doesn’t seem to want to share, he thinks she will vanish if someone else gets their hands on her, but Lestrade knows, we are heading to the station now to get any information he will been able to turn up to take back to Baker Street.” He finished, hoping to avoid any further scolding.

“Right then, off we go!” Mary announced, dumping her unfinished tea in the sink. Something about this one smelled off, it set her instincts tingling and Mary wanted to know what it why.

-s-s-s-

Sherlock paced the living room again; he had turned up not a skerrick of useful information in his discreet net search. Not a single article or social media entry that looked like or pertained to the mysterious Rose. Coming up blank in any single thing was not a feeling Sherlock was used to, or particularly liked. Abandoning that useless line of thought Sherlock paced to the bathroom to pick up an old medicine dropper John had left when he had moved out from the cabinet above the sink. After sanitising the instrument with boiled water from the kettle Sherlock filled a glass with cool water and moved back to the woman on his couch. Placing the objects on the small table in front of the couch Sherlock moved around it to take a seat near Roses legs, bent at the knees and laying against the back rest of the couch. He considered her a moment. How that difference he couldn’t identify pulled at his senses! Some slight air about her that was different from any other person he had come into contact with. He’d call it an aura if he believed in such nonsense. There was some difference there! Right at the edge of her being that he couldn’t pinpoint, something that just didn’t fit here.

As though aware of his stare and thoughts Rose shifted in her sleep, just the smallest of movements but enough to bring Sherlock's attention front and center. He picked up the dropper and filled it with water; gently placing his hand under her chin Sherlock curled his fingers around the delicate feeling bone of her jaw and opened her mouth just slightly. Holding the dropper just above her tongue Sherlock allowed the water to dribble out in to her mouth, a little at a time. When the dropper was empty and Rose still hadn’t swallowed most of the water Sherlock brought his hand from her chin to the pale column of her throat, massaging gently the muscles were stimulated to flex and swallow. Feelings he didn’t know and couldn’t describe flickered to life inside him. He pushed them aside to concentrate on the task at hand; it would hardly do to allow the water to end up in her lungs.  Rubbing the area a little more to keep the muscles awake he allowed more water to trickle into her mouth with the dropper in his other hand. Rose swallowed easily this time

With more patience than most thought he even possessed Sherlock coaxed most of the nearly full glass into Rose before standing to give it a break, not wanting to wake sleeping woman. Sherlock felt the need to move away from the couch, still unsure as to why he had been so gentle and tender in something as simple as giving water. That he had felt the strange unnamed feelings at all disturbed him. He held deep affection for his friend John and liked his girlfriend Mary, but what he had just felt then he hadn’t felt for either of his friends before. He couldn’t describe them or name them so he forced them aside. They would do his investigation no good and served little to no purpose in the current situation. He closed his eyes and located a rare unused room in his mind palace, segmenting the room he placed the unnamed feelings in one half and the facts about the mystery woman and what he had deduced so far on the other.  He established a distinct line between the two, satisfied that would be sufficient to retain his focus, he left his mind palace.

A sound drew his attention back to the couch, mutters and a soft crying sound reached him. Sherlock moved back over to the couch reluctantly, both wanting to know what caused the woman’s distress and for once not trusting his own curiosity. He bent over nearing her upper body and called to her quietly.

“Rose, Rose wake up. You are in no danger.”

His words proved ineffectual as she cried out again. He grasped her upper arm, moving closer and giving her a slight shake.

Torchwood honed reflexes jolted back into being at the feeling of a hand closing on her arm. Rose snapped awake and shot up on the couch, bringing her face to within centimetres of Sherlock’s. Their eyes locked for the briefest but most electric moment before Roses widened and she gave a rather girly squeal and promptly fell sideways off the couch. Hitting her hip on the small table added to Roses distress as she backwards crab crawled to get away from Sherlock, until her back hit the door frame. Sherlock was still crouched in the same position in the shock of the intense eye contact but was shaken out of it by the thump of Roses impact with the frame.

“Easy,” he said, raising his hands up, palm out to show he meant no harm.

“Where the hell am I? Who are you?!” Rose exclaimed, her hands grasping the door frame behind her and using it to drag herself up to her feet.

“I'm Sherlock Holmes.” He stated in an attempt at a soothing voice. Roses face blanched as her memories prior to blacking out returned.

“Oh Bollocks!”


	4. Meeting Rose

Chapter 4: Meeting Rose.

“Bollocks!”

Rose slid down the door frame again landing on her bottom with an inelegant thump. Her eyes glazed in shock and she began to draw frantic breaths.

“Alright, settle down,” said Sherlock taking a small step forward “Panicking will gain you nothing.”

“Panic? Who’s panicking?!” exclaimed Rose hysterically. “Of all the bloody universes I could end up in I get the one with Sherlock bloody Holmes!” Rose clenched her fists pressing them to the sides of her head, almost shouting her next words. “I'm not panicking, I'm pissed!”

Suddenly Rose slumped forwards no longer able to hold her arms up, they dropped to the floor.

“I just wanted the Doctor, just my Doctor.” The aching heartbreak laced her tone again as tears leaked from her eyes. With a shuddering breath Rose just let the tears flow, staring at the hands she drew in to her lap Rose let herself cry. She knew the drill now; new life, new world, she’d done it before but for this moment Rose mourned. For everyone she had finally realised she had lost in that one moment of desperation, in that one grief fuelled act that had brought her here, she had lost everything.

Sherlock stood frozen mid-step, hands still up. How on earth was he meant to deal with this? Where was John when he was needed or Mary? Hell at this point he’d take Mrs Hudson. Had the woman been unconscious to long? Hit her head? Nothing she was saying made any sense. Universes? Although he could see indication of neither head trauma nor oxygen starvation there must be a reason she sounded like Bedlam had misplaced her. 

As if in answer to his frustrated thoughts John and Mary ran up the last flight of stairs and through the door, nearly tripping over the still crying Rose. John took the situation in at a glance and turned to Sherlock accusingly.

“What did you do to her?” he nearly shouted, Sherlock moved his hands from their placating position out to his sides in a gesture bespeaking his confusion.

“She appeared to be suffering a nightmare; I attempted to wake her up. Her reaction was sufficient to reinforce my initial presumption of some military or secret service training, then she panicked, not a very militant reaction I might add, and after trying to go through the wall and crying about universes and doctors we find ourselves here.”

John huffed in agitation, shifting weight from one foot to the other, “Well what did you expect you probably frightened her, we still don’t know anything about her.” Gesturing towards Rose.

Mary had, by this point, dismissed both men and moved towards Rose, kneeling down beside her.

“Hello there,” Rose lifted her head and regarded Mary with clear eyes despite the tears still leaking out.

“My name is Mary, are you hurt anywhere?” Rose shook her head.

“Has something happened to you?” Mary inquired quietly; her look at the rather miserable seeming woman in front of her had quietened some of the misgivings about this case. She knew the look of loss, of hardship and rough times seen. This girl had been through a lot, if it was an act then she was a sterling actor. Yet something nagged at her, there was something different about the woman.

Rose drew a deep shuddering breath, digging a tissue out of her jeans pocket she wiped her eyes and blew her nose. She tucked her lose hair behind her ears in a self-strengthening movement.

Looking back to Mary she said, “I’m fine, thank you. It was just a bit of a shock to wake up being stared at.” John turned an accusing stare at Sherlock again; both men had been following the interaction closely.

“John tells me your name is Rose.” Sherlock observed the tightening of her hands around the tissue at the mention of John’s name. It seemed to upset her; this lost doctor Rose was after was clearly called John.

“Yes, Rose Tyler”

“Do you know how you got here, I'm told it was quiet an appearance,” only Sherlock and Rose noted the ever so slight hardening of Mary’s voice, denoting her suspicion of the whole event. The muscles across Roses shoulders tightened nearly imperceptibly, well imperceptible to all but Sherlock,

“No, I'm sorry I don’t know how I got here, I didn’t even know where here was until he told me.” Rose said indicating to Sherlock. He opened his mouth to point out the deception when the results of Mary’s next question caught his words in his throat.

“Well is there any one we can call for you? Someone is probably worried for you.”

Rose’s face crumpled and darkened, like the light was switched off inside her skin. All the breath rushed from her lungs and she seemed to fold in ways.

“No one” she intoned in the most broken voice Sherlock had ever heard, “I’ve lost everyone.”

Fresh tears leaked from Rose’s eyes as she turned her head away for a moment. Not a breath could be heard for a moment after her answer. Sherlock put proverbial boot to ass in his mind in an attempt to get himself to impartially review Rose’s words and actions. She clearly did know how she had come to inhabit the floor of his living room, but Sherlock could detect no lie in the answer she had given to Mary’s last question. Mary reacted first.

“Well how about a cup of tea and a more comfortable seat before we try and work anything else out.” Mary stood from her crouched position and held her hand out to offer Rose help from her seated position. Rose regarded the proffered limb for a moment then darted her eyes over Mary for the first time properly. Sherlock was shocked to see observations and calculations flicker through her eyes, as they themselves took in every small part of Mary. Rose reached up and took the hand, levering herself from the floor. Sherlock watched her use the movement to disguise a similar though shorter look at John.

“Thank you” she said to Mary, retaining the blanket in her hand Rose turned to step to the couch.

“Aren’t you going to deduce something about me as well?” Sherlock commented narrowed eyes glued to Rose.

Rose stopped mid step and turned to consider the man furthest from her. From his position in front of the window Rose could see he was sleekly muscled, not as thin as her Doctor but well proportioned, his high forehead denoted the intelligence she knew he possessed, shrewd grey-green eyes took in every single thing about her. Cheek bones so sharp she would probably lose a finger if ever she had occasion to slap him sat above nearly concaved cheeks, making his mouth seem larger than it was. A patrician nose completed the very aristocratic visage. She flicked her eyes over the other aspects important to her assessment then back to his face.

“What are you on about Sherlock? As you often remind us, no one thinks like you do.” John shook his head turning to accompany Mary to the kitchen, rather in need of some coffee.

“On the contrary John, Ms Tyler just gave all three of us a very detailed look over. Tell me, what did you deduce from us Ms Tyler?” Sherlock questioned moving a few steps closer to peer at her, unsure if he felt amused or vaguely threatened by the intense observation.

“I didn’t.” replied Rose. And she hadn’t. After many years of space travel with the doctor, then hoping across universal boundaries to try and find him again, Rose had encountered many forms of life, hostile and not. These experiences had matured her already very good observation skills into something else. Something that had become second nature to her and had saved her life any number of times, it was what made her a good torchwood agent. It was the ability to distinguish friend from foe at a glance, weakness from strength and a lie from the truth. That the object of her assessment had a cat or 3 girlfriends wasn’t something Rose looked for.

“Don’t bother to hide it, I have already deduced you have military like training, can clearly handle weapons well and are not likely to lose a fight.” Rose smiled slightly, not in the lease intimidated.

“You could have described any person with military training. You just described Dr Watson.”

Sherlock blinked. John raised an eyebrow. Only Mary seemed to take the rebuttal in stride.

“I didn’t ‘deduce’ any of you as you would. I am well aware of what you do Sherlock.”

The sound of his name on her lips awoke yet another unfamiliar feeling within him, her voice, still slightly rough from crying and the tiredness that laced her, seemed to brush like the lightest touch across the back of his neck. That mystifying difference about her seemed to reach out to him again, even in her voice it sounded. He put the boot in again to regain focus, he’d have toe and heel shaped bruises on his psyche by the end of the day at this rate.

“I assessed you, there is a difference.” Stated Rose with neutral inflection.

“Oh did you?” said Sherlock, slightly mockingly, “And what did you asses in us?”

Rose flicked her eyes back to the doctor and his partner. “The good doctor is a moral man at heart, despite his at weapons handling and self-defence abilities stemming from the already stated armed forces stint.” Turning back to Sherlock she continued

“You are an arrogant, exceptionally intelligent, autism spectrum individual with easy weapons ability. You suffer little to no interruptions from feelings or morals that might stand between you and any goal you have, that would otherwise stop another person.” Rose took a breath and turned at last to Mary.

“And you are the most dangerous person in the room at this current point in time.”

 

-s-s-s-

 

Silence met the ending of Roses speech. For a moment anyway, then the room filled with sound as everyone stepped in to comment on Rose’s assessment.

“But how did…”

“Actually I'm a high…”

“I am not dangerous!” Sounded the loudest voice.

Sherlock stepped forward, this line of conversation needed to be headed off very fast. His own suspicions in this area were too new and untested to be aired by an unknown someone whose intentions and motivations were still unknown.

“I believe Rose refers to the fact it is obvious that you are in a relationship with John and the person Rose lost recently that affected her most was the loss of a doctor also called John, I suspect this was a boyfriend or fiancé, not husband as no ring or band tan is present. Due to the first words Rose said being that of wanting her doctor and his name being John, Rose fears you will see her as some sort of challenger or competition for the affections of this doctor John.”

Rose, being in no way fooled by the sudden excuse, peered at Sherlock for the briefest moment and made a quick decision. It would be unwise to challenge the person who was clearly head of the house in which she was sitting when this world was still strange to her and she had nowhere to go just yet were he to slam the front door behind her.

So Rose hung her head just a little and admitted, “I'm sorry for jumping to any conclusions, I know this John isn’t who I was looking for now.” Sherlock turned to Rose at this,

“Wait, looking for? You did end up here with for a reason?”

Ah crap, Rose cursed her slip, now what was she going to do, it’s not like they would believe her. She had no proof and she didn’t doubt they would think her crazy. Funny farm here I come she thought dejectedly.

“Well…” she started only to be saved by the door!

“Hello dears, I thought I’d pop in with this little bit of shopping, goodness knows you hardly eat Sherlock. Please tell me you removed those toes from the icebox! Oh hello there…” the elderly but spry woman trailed off at finally seeing the somewhat tense posture of the occupants of the room and the new face among them.

“Mrs Hudson this is Rose, she has brought us a most interesting case and will be staying here until its conclusion, please make the spare room up for her.” Having neatly redirected everyone’s attentions he turned and strode over to his violin and picked it up, he needed to think, and oddly like his brother, he did it slightly better when his hands were full or in some way occupied, if only with their placement under his chin.

“Not your house keeper dear,” Mrs Hudson gave her usual answer and was as usual ignored by Sherlock. Now that she had been apprised of the situation she moved to the kitchen to try and find somewhere to sit the groceries she was holding.

Mary moved towards the door, eager to leave the girls presence despite the change of subject.

“Well Rose seems to be staying so come and help me make up your old room John.” She vanished up the stairs leaving a bemused John to follow her.

Rose stood still a moment absorbing the last few minutes. Shaking her head to clear it she turned and moved around the table to sit on the couch. Her bag bumped against her leg from under the table where Sherlock had moved it. Gasping Rose grabbed the bag and drew it into her lap. Leaning down she hugged it into her chest and laid her face on the top, breathing in through her nose Rose savoured the slight scent of the Doctor that lingered. She knew it would be gone soon, worn away in the flow of every day air, but it still held something for her, it was the Doctors bag. His things were in it some clothes, tools and gadgets. He could still be here with her, she just had to keep the bag close and he’d be there too.

Sherlock had been watching Rose from the corner of his drawn together eyes and had noted when she saw the bag and reached for it. Clearly the object had belonged to someone in her lost family, he would guess the lost doctor by the way she breathed in the scent on the bag, as though taking solace in it.

His brow creased as he tried to deduce the contents of the bag, soft rounded bulges at the top and base of the bag indicated cloth, most likely clothes, male clothes by the conclusion it had belonged to her John. Sharp edges protruded at unequal intervals in the center of the bag, denoting oddly shaped objects, some metal some plastic.

“What are the objects in the center of your bag? The ones that are above his clothes but under yours.” Sherlock asked a crease at the top of the bridge of his nose appearing as his brow furrowed further, indicating his agitation at not knowing the answer already.

Rose’s head jerked up at the intrusion to her momentary grief. Calm she may be on the outside but inside Rose still cried.

“This is all I have left of the life I’ve lost.” She replied quietly

“Yes that’s very poetic, but what are those objects?” focused only on the subject at hand, his reactions to her sorrow were being firmly pushed to the side.

“They were his,” she snapped back. “His gadgets, artefacts that might be useful, his…” she trailed off. Swinging her eyes back down to the bag she clutched they widened. This was it! Her proof was in this bag, there must be something in here would convince him of her origins!

Rose turned bright eyes back to Sherlock and the sudden change in her face stopped him momentarily. Gone was the aching grief and the heartbreak, and shinning forward was a look of hope. Sherlock blinked, such emotions over a bag were not with in his comprehending range, any more than his reactions to her sudden change. Reapply boot.

“It’s my proof,” she whispered in wonder.

“Proof? Proof of what?”

“That what I tell you next, about me, is the truth. No matter how crazy it sounds.”

Sherlock suddenly grinned, his eyes crinkling and his voice dropping an octave in anticipation of finding answers to the baffling case seated on his couch.

“Now that’s more like it”

“More like what Sherlock?” John asked re-entering the room, alone.

“Rose agreed to aid in our investigation as to how exactly she came to suddenly resining in my living room.”

“You asked her to help?” queried John in surprise.

“Of course I didn’t ask, I concluded Rose is without further options for accommodations, thus will be here until this case, to which she is the primary evidence, is solved. I'm sure you will be here first thing in the morning but are leaving now as Mary descended the stairs before you but continued on to the car so it must be late and you will be wanting to get home, thus not staying here.” Pacing from his position and back again Sherlock continued, “So you will I'm sure be here early to again check on Rose as you will think I will get lost in deductions and theories and completely neglect to see to any humans needs she may have such as food and sleep as I rarely attend to my own while on a case.”

“Christ take a breath there” commented Rose, chin now propped on her elbow and watching Sherlock with something akin to amusement but not arguing with his deduction. It was somewhat like not arguing with the designated driver again she thought to herself sadly.

“Right…” John trailed off looking at Sherlock, half the sentence had been verging on redundant; something Sherlock didn’t do very often. Or at all.

“Yes I’ll be back in the morning” He looked to Rose, “Try to have some tea and something to eat and have a sleep, we’ve fixed the room up for you. I’ll be back in the morning to check everything” this last comment was made with a glance at Sherlock.

“Yes yes, your very thoughtful now go away, and take Mrs Hudson, I need quiet to think.” Sherlock waved his hand at the door and turned to his laptop to bring up any reports of whole family deaths in recent weeks.

John shook his head and headed to the kitchen, snagging Mrs Hudson by the arm to take her to the stairs as well.

‘But, but I’m not done, I was going to make some tea…”

“I’m just as sure that Sherlock can actually make tea as I am that he will end up snapping something at you if you stay.” He nearly dragged Mrs Hudson to her door and said good night before making his own way to the front door to go to Mary in the car. Rose may be nowhere near as disconcerting as Sherlock was at times but there was something about her that just twinged as different.

 

-s-s-s-

 

“There you have what you wanted, everyone is gone. Now tell me where you’re from.”

“How did you know I didn’t want to tell anyone else?”

“Oh do we have to go through this? I saw you glance towards the open door and the kitchen when you talked of revealing your origins, as if worried about being over heard. Scarcely a hard deduction.” He finished condescendingly.

“Alright then” Rose’s voice raised, “See how high your nose is pointing when we’re done here then.”

“I doubt it will be any different, I don’t plan on taking off my shoes.”

“I'm from another world, another Earth, another universe!” Rose shouted.

Sherlock stood a moment then raised a single eyebrow.

“I see” he stated “And does that you brought with you bag contain the medicine you’re overdue in taking?”

 


	5. Origins at Dispute

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Finally we get the heart of the mystery of the case! Once Sherlock has discovered the origins of Rose (though will remain delightfully baffled by her) we will be plunged into the events of season three. So spoilers ahoy! The scientific theories and scientists Sherlock thinks about are real people and theories, I did a bit of research to accompany this chapter, more than usual which is why it’s late so I hope everyone can forgive me. To be able to write the theories and term them as Sherlock would I actually had to put my self through a crash course in quantum physics i.e. the law and behaviour of matter. So feeling a little (It’s very wee captain!) bit smarter and rather tired, I present the following chapter for your enjoyment.

 

**I know i posted this very quickly, it was all written and on another site but I've come to really like AO3 so i thought id post it here too. Reviews are greatly appreciated :)**

 

 

Rose stood to face Sherlock, squaring her shoulders and holding the precious bag to her side she looked him square in the eyes.

“I'm not crazy or delusional. I began my life in a city just like this one, a parallel city, a London in a parallel universe. I was trapped just a few years ago in another world, one with more differences, my mum and I were both trapped there.” Rose halted as the thoughts of her mother overwhelmed her; she’d never see her, hear her shout at the Doctor for tinkering with her toaster. See her raise Tony, shaking away the pointless thoughts for another time she continued.

“It was ok though, cause she found my dad again, a parallel version, he died in our world. And they got married and were happy, and I was happy, I had … someone, and he… he died.” Rose stuttered again before drawing straighter again, stronger. “He’d been working on a device to cross the universal barrier again but it was never meant to be used. I used it to try to get him back, he had to be somewhere, and I just wanted him back…”

Rose trailed off and seemed to deflate again, as if the fight had gone out of her with her explanation. Now she just waited for him to process it all, to demand proof or kick her to the door. Her future hinged on him, she had nothing left but to hope his need for the full answer would keep him from rejecting everything.

Around him time seemed to still as Sherlock's mind was raced almost faster than even he thought it was capable of, could any part of what Rose was saying be true? His mind flicked through the possibilities.

Parallel algorithm. No, Sherlock shook his head.

Parallel circuits, geometry, parallel evolution.

No! Damit none of it matched, he flicked it all aside.

Worlds, war of the worlds. No. world economy, world peace. No! Sherlock flicked the mismatches down and away.

Parallel latitude, imaginary line around the globe. Globe, planet, astronomy. Getting closer.

Parallel declination, used in astronomy, measuring the universe. Parallel universes! There! Sherlock jerked as the relevant information crashed to the forefront of his mind.

He knew all the relevant theories; they were stored away in a dusty hallway of his mind palace, ready to be deleted if anything more important were to come along. The only reason they hadn’t been deleted like the solar system information was because the repercussions of any of the theories being proven true had real world consequences. Like affecting the linear concept of time, and that was interesting, not at all boring.

He knew Hugh Everett III had proposed the Many-worlds interpretation in 1954, Everett thought that there existed many parallel universes all related to our own, branches off ours as we branched off others. Ones where wars ended differently; dead species survived, humanity never evolved. An apparently endless list of possibilities. The smallest level of being that scientists had discovered so far was the quantum level, the particles that existed on this level had a way of taking different forms arbitrarily, they had observed tiny packets of light called photons act as both particles and waves. These shape shifting exhibits led to what Sherlock knew as the Heisenberg Uncertainty Principle, that by observing matter we affect its behaviour.

This Sherlock knew also correlated with the Copenhagen interpretation posed by Niels Bohr. His interpretation suggested that all quantum particles don’t exist in one or the other of the states but all of them all at once, this state being called superposition. When we observe a quantum object we affect its behaviour, this breaks the objects superposition basically forces it to choose one state. Sherlock knew that Everett had posed that instead of when measuring a quantum particle it was forced into one comprehensible state, the measurement of the particle actually caused a split in the universe, the universe then literally duplicated to accommodate all the states of the particle. A universe for each state that was there but went unseen. According to this theory if an action has more than one possible outcome then the universe is split when the action is taken, this holds true if a person chooses not to take an action.

Sherlock dug deeper into the vaults of his mind, there had to be more, he needed more than one man’s theories to make sense of this. String theory also posed the possibility of parallel worlds existing, saying our universe was like a bubble that existed alongside other universe bubbles, with some things, like gravity, able to flow between the barriers of the bubbles. But none of it was provable! Science had built machines to detect quantum matter but sub quantum had yet to be observed, making the theory and everything based on it, just that, theoretical.

Outside his mind time was still frozen as Sherlock processed the information, his mind seemed to be almost yanked back to the feeling around her, that difference he could sense. It was like nothing he had ever experienced, read about or heard about, could this be due to her not being from this universe? Did the strings at the very core of her atoms vibrate at a different rate and frequency like it was supposed those of other universes did? He knew that in recent years the theories he had sorted through were being given more attention, experimented with. Hell even Einstein’s Theory of Everything was being tested.

Damnit he needed more! He needed something tangible, not unprovable theories or some intangible, indescribable feeling of difference. He could tell by the steady throb of pulse in the small blue vein that stood out in her pale throat that her heart rate hadn’t increased. Her hands hadn’t tightened as they seemed to do when she lied; her eyes were steady on him, holding only fear. Fear of what? Fear he would not believe her, fear he’d discover a lie or fear, that were all this prove to be true, that he would be likely to give her to the nearest scientist to study? Time to find out.

“Have you any way to back this claim up?”

Rose looked at him with wide eyes for a moment, wondering why he hadn’t dismissed her out of hand, maybe his curiosity was working for her after all. Rose gathered her courage and started forward to here he still stood near his laptop, on the other side of a table from her. She picked up some books and papers and piled them off to a side then put the bag to the edge of the cleared space. 

Opening the bag slowly Rose lovingly picked out her own clothes from the top, simple black cargo pants, suitable for the field. Black t-shirt, grey long sleeved top, undergarments that Rose hastily folded into the long sleeved top. Not that she supposed he had missed it, watching her as closely as he was, but she also doubted he cared. Setting the neatly folded pile to the side Rose reached into the bag again. Bringing out three items Rose hoped they would be enough to convince him, two were of alien origin, so she could pass them off as from the other world for now, space and time travel was so going to have to wait for another day.

The third was probably her most precious possession now, it was a crystal that the Doctor had discover after an alien crash-landed into the side of a hill in the moors of Scotland in Pete’s World. The crystal was unique to that world; nothing like it existed on her original earth, or any planet the Doctor had visited. Similar to amethyst in look and formation there was a small molecular difference that caused the stone to be vibrant sliver laced purple and absorb then refract light in such a way that it seemed to glow from within. Rose knew he had planned to have the tennis ball sized piece of crystal shaped and made into something for her by one of their off world contacts who specialised in shaping strange stone but she would never know what he had planned it to be now.

She laid the crystal along with the two tech pieces; until they were actually used or investigated on a very minute scale they looked like any piece of randomly put together human technology. But in fact they were very advanced pieces. One small boomerang shaped piece was dull grey in colour and held nothing more than a slightly abraded area in its center roughly the size of a finger print. It was a simple translator, simple looking but powerful. Placed behind the ear on the small bone just near the hair line the translator read the vibrations the bones in the ear picked up when listening, it then translated the meaning directly back into the nerves in the ear that normally interpreted the vibrations. The technology had been fairly new to torchwood but the Doctor had been able to understand it easily, setting up software to feed any new languages encountered into its data banks. Rose supposed it would only be useful now for Earth languages, still it was a hidden strength should she need it. The final object was the most dangerous, an extremely powerful laser cutter used for cutting through nearly any material. It was not standard torchwood issue but the Doctor was often called out to the unusual cases. He had needed it often enough that rather than leaving it needing to be recharged constantly he had equipped it with a tiny nuclear-powered battery. And as usual doing nothing by halves the half-life of the battery was nearly a hundred years. She wouldn’t have to worry about it dying on her.

Sherlock was watching Rose closely, inspecting each piece as it came out, looking for anything that might indicate its origins. Disturbingly the objects had the same feel of difference that Rose did. Most so though was the astounding looking crystal she revealed. Sherlock reached out to the crystal across the table with his right hand, Rose snatched it up and held it to her body for a moment, he withdrew his hand to his side again and raised his eyebrow at her.

“Promise me you will be careful, this is all I have left.” Sherlock nodded his head indicating his understanding. Rose handed the crystal towards his left side, he held out his hand for it and she deposited the crystal into his palm.

“Been held prisoner lately huh” Rose remarked, Sherlock froze, the skin under his eyes tightening in a micro-expression of confusion. He brought the crystal back towards him and placed it on the closed lid of his laptop, looking at her all the while. This was interesting, how had she managed to deduce that?

“As I doubt you have been in contact with Mycroft to learn such information, you would be in a lab somewhere, how did you reach that conclusion?”

“Both your wrists hold the faint markings, the pattern suggesting metal manacles, and your left side pulled a tiny amount more when you reached for the crystal than your right did, a majority of the world’s population is right handed, a universal constant that seems to be, so whips and other torture instruments applied to the back are applied with the right hand towards the left of the victims back.”

Rose held her wrists out for his inspection showing him the similar pattern to his own, she had been though many and varied experiences when jumping universes to find the Doctor to warn him of the coming darkness.  Mycroft, she knew that name. The mysterious older brother of Sherlock Holmes, smarter than him, worked for the government. Interesting

Sherlock nodded his head after looking at her wrists, looking back to the crystal he applied the wearing thin boot to his thoughts, he needed to put more focus to the task in front of him and less to thinking over what Rose had been though to earn scaring similar to his own. Sherlock held the crystal close to his face, looking deep into it, he held it to his nose, smelling it, he licked a finger that had been touching it. Holding it to the window Sherlock studied the light filtering into it and refracting from the silver veins. Brief conclusion; not man made, further study required.

Placing the crystal on the table Sherlock reached for the small boomerang piece, with his left hand, not of course to prove he had no weakness but because it was the closer hand. Bringing the small piece close to his face Sherlock studied this as well, running his finger over the small abraded area the metal let out the faintest vibration.

“You just turned it on.” explained Rose. “It’s a translator; put it on the bone behind your dominant ear and hey-presto, every language.” For Earth anyway, she thought

Sherlock raised the eyebrow she was beginning to want to wax off, just for the shit of it.

“I highly doubt there is the room in this device to house the correct syntax for more than two languages.” Rose crossed her arms and shifted her weight to cock a hip out defiantly.

“Well then why don’t you just pull up some foreign language show on that handy laptop in front of you and put the translator on part way through?” that was how they tested them at home, no she corrected herself, in the old universe. This one was home now.

Sherlock caught the movements of her hip, the curving of her arms under her chest. Snapping back to focus he opened his laptop to do as suggested, only because it was the logical way to test the device and he would have done it next anyway.

Bringing up the latest foreign news update Sherlock played the file. A few moments of a news speaker delivering the news in Mandarin passed and Sherlock brought the small piece to his ear and placed it as instructed. A moment of fuzzy sound assaulted his ear and the words that had been unintelligible moments before rang in clear English through his ear. Removing the translator a moment later the clip returned to being voiced in Mandarin. Sherlock repeated the experiment with a Scottish Gaelic cooking show and another news story, this time from Russia, he knew Russian and so could verify the device translated right. Removing translator for the final time Sherlock simply stared at the device in his hand. He doubted an advancement like this could have been made without his knowing about it.

“You’ll get a headache if you put it on part way through a sentence by the way.” Sherlock's head was indeed beginning to hurt but Rose’s sarcasm was lost on the detective as he tried to process the information he had received. Very reminiscent of the Baskervilles case, he was struggling to accept the input of his senses. Sherlock placed the translator gently down next to the crystal and looked to the last of the evidence Rose had produced. As long as your average pencil and about as thick as a broom handle, it looked like some form of weapon. Veins of wiring snaked under a metal coating, the tapered front end of the device looked pen like, as if it had a ball at the tip but glass like. A hand grip about half way up the device had a small round button where a thumb would be comfortably placed on a right handed person. Small indents in the palm grip showed the device could also be held like one would a pen.

“What is the last object?” asked Sherlock.

“Basically a laser cutter, I think I’ll show you this one. Don’t want you taking out an eye, and the brain behind it… and the wall behind that.”

“Quiet, a lobotomy was not on my schedule today.” Rose raised an eyebrow of her own, was that sarcasm?

Rose turned to the doorway leading to the stairs and through it, Sherlock trailing behind, wondering what the devil she would do now. Kneeling at the hand rail Rose brought the pen like end of the device close to the end or the rail, angling it to the tilt of the rail Rose activated the beam, a small rather harmless looking red light appeared from the end of it and with a small sizzle burnt into the wood. Sherlock hummed, unimpressed. Rose turned her head, hand still steady and winked at him, looking over the rail towards the wall down the stairs she counted down.

“3, 2, 1…” With another sizzle the small red light beamed from the end of the rail and strait into the wall opposite it. Rose turned off the no longer insignificant looking beam. Standing back up Rose presented the device to Sherlock and said simply,

“Be careful.” Turning back to the living room Rose replaced the clothes into the pack. Sherlock returned to his position on the other side of the table. His slightly wooden gait portraying his surprise at the power of the small object.

Hefting the bag to her shoulder Rose looked to Sherlock and said,

“I’m sure you have tests you want to run in your kitchen like lab but I'm going to go get some sleep.”

Sherlock managed to pull his attention from the three engrossing objects in front of him and nodded to Rose.

“At the top of the stairs you will find the room that you can sleep in for the remainder of your stay, the bathroom is through the kitchen, first door on the left.”

Rose nodded back and headed for the stairs; she would forgo the food and even tea just to get to a bed and curl up to sleep. She did rather hope though that said bedroom didn’t have four different wall papers like the living room did. Reaching the room at the top of the stairs Rose dropped to sit on the bed. Bringing the bag to her knees she dug to its bottom and removed an over large shirt of the Doctors. Removing most of her own clothes Rose put it on and slipped into bed. Taking no note of the surrounding room Rose curled under the covers, one hand hanging over the edge of the bed to grip the bag like a life line. She closed her eyes and again lost herself to her grief, triggered by the scent of the Doctor clinging to his shirt. She knew starting tomorrow she had to face a new life and her grief would not help her, but she had a heart big enough to fit the love she had for many worlds and people, when that heart broke as it had now, there was no way to just put it aside. Rose knew she needed to grieve, or she would never move on. A fitful sleep soon fell over Rose as the last of her tears fell away.

-s-s-s-

Sherlock watched Rose exit his living room, with her disappeared the near shimmer in the air that always surrounded her, that palpable feeling of difference. It muddled with his focus, made him struggle to keep the unwanted unknown feelings locked to the room he sent them. Sherlock turned to the objects in front of him, so many tests he had to run on them, so much he could learn if they truly turned out to be from a parallel world.

This must be what children felt like at Christmas, generally he hated Christmas, just like his brother, inane gatherings of stupid people celebrating a holiday they had forgotten the origins of, eating too much and drinking to excess. If his Christmases growing up had been more like this he might have actually liked them.

Sherlock grinned to himself, like any child he couldn’t wait to take his new toys apart and see how they ticked.

 

 


	6. A Casual Abduction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This is where Mycroft comes in to the story. I hope everyone went alright with all the info I put in the last chapter. If anything didn’t make sense please pm me and I’d be happy to explain further. Feedback of all sorts is much appreciated and welcomed.

Just as dawn fully wrested the sky from the night Rose woke abruptly to a loud deep voice and a crash coming from the rooms below her own. Rubbing her gritty eyes Rose swung her legs over the side of the bed and reached for her jeans from the day before. What a horrible way to start the day thought Rose, never a morning person. Gathering the small change of clothes she had, Rose headed for the stairs figuring a shower and a cup of tea would be a good way to begin the process of transition. God she hoped this universe had good tea, though the long days and sleepless nights of the last month had given her a tolerance of the bitter coffee of the other universe, it couldn’t be any worse than that.

She was determined to go forward. Yes she had lost her Doctor and she would always hold the hurt of that in her heart, Rose would never love quiet like she had loved him. But her parents were alive and thriving, her brother had a full life ahead of him and they knew she had gone to wherever it was she had gone through her own choice, they may even imagine that she had found her Doctor and was happy. She would try to make a life here, she had skills, she was resourceful, and Rose knew she could do this.

Rose descended the stairs and looked around the living room for Sherlock, not seeing him she turned the corner to find him seated and looking through a small microscope, not a lab quality one, peering into its depths with a stern set to his mouth.

“Good morning Sherlock, was that you making that racket?” Sherlock drew his gaze from the samples in front of him to the woman standing on the threshold to the kitchen.

“I can find nothing to disprove your story.” Sherlock answered shortly. Rose noticed the few small objects on the table were tilted or on their sides. Big baby she thought smacks his hands on the table at the first sign things aren’t going his way. Well she was used to petulant geniuses. Rose decided discretion was the better part of valour and ignored his tone, heading to where she could see a kettle at the end of the bench near the stove she filled it with water.

“Well nice to know you believe me now, there’ll no more meds comments I hope.” Rose commented flicking the kettle on.

“I don’t believe you yet; I need time to process the data I’ve acquired from the tests I’ve run.”

Rose stood for a moment and just listened to Sherlock's voice, she had been through too much yesterday to truly hear him talk and listen to his words at the same time. It was nearly disturbing, his voice. It was deep and gravely in such a way that you could almost hear the individual bumps in it. What a weapon he had at his disposal, that voice could melt a woman at twenty paces. Truly listening to it for the first time his voice sent a shiver like warm fingers down the inside of her spine. Rose flicked her head to focus her thoughts on his words, he had better not have damaged any of her belongings she would oh so introduce those aristocratic features of his to something hard if he had. Rose turned to tell him just that only to find him observing her closely. God she hoped he hadn’t seen her reaction; it had left her feeling slightly ashamed.

Little did she know Sherlock could pick up nothing from her through the feeling of difference she was emanating. His inability to see past it was wearing on his nerves.

“I need to think,” Sherlock stood abruptly, “If you’re going to be around be quiet.” He turned and headed to his chair, he needed to focus, apply his immense mind to the problem at hand. To accept what was in front of him and its consequences or not?

Rose stood in shock. Arrogant rude geniuses were one thing but the Doctor had never been that abrupt, in this regeneration at least. Well she huffed to herself it’s not like she needed his permission to continue with her day. She was still in desperate need of that shower and the tea could just come too.

-s-s-s-

 

Rose finally breathed in fresh air as she stepped out the front door of 221B Baker Street. It felt like life times since she had just stood in the sparse London sun and taken a moment to breath. Sherlock would be thinking about the results of the tests on the contents of her bag for the rest of the day, if not the week. He had been so lost in his own thoughts he hadn’t even responded when she had called to him from the stairs that she was going out to look around. Probably a good thing, she had had to use the only available shower products and they had obviously been his. She wasn’t sure how he would take that. Rose had tried exploring the house briefly, had found that Sherlock’s laptop opened strait to a webpage detailing the cases Sherlock and John had been on, cases like the hound of Baskervilles and Irene Adler, Rose amazed at how closely everything followed the few stories she knew of the pair. A small page on the computer desktop its-self had details of John’s first run in with the older Holmes brother that hadn’t made it to the website, it was interesting to note. Rose had a feeling she would meet him soon if he really kept that close an eye on his brother. She really needed a story she could tell people, a reason that would actually fly as to why she was at this moment residing in 221B Baker Street. Feeling too much like a snoop looking around while Sherlock was absorbed in his own mind Rose had decided to go out.

She would have to find a job of some sort. This had been so much easier the first time Rose thought dejectedly, with Pete and his fortune to settle her and her mother in, a job to go to. Continuing the work the Doctor would have been, and was proud of. What would she do now? Without him, without the world to save, aliens to fight or befriend, who was she now? Sighing aloud Rose stepped down the single step to the street, looking left and right to decide might be the best way to go. Wouldn’t hurt to do a bit of exploring, this London looked very like her original but there were bound to be differences. Taking a few more steps towards the road Rose felt to late the men come up on either side of her. Damn they must have been good to sneak up on her, or her time of grieving and universe hopping had dulled her senses. She’d have to work on that.

“A nice gentleman would like a word with you Miss” said goon A on her right.

“Coming along quietly would be best” said goon B on her left, picking up perfectly from his counterparts sentence.

“Did you practice that?” Rose asked as an unassuming black car pulled up in front of the trio. Lovely she thought thirty seconds outside and she was in trouble already, this was just perfect. Sherlock would never let her out again now, cause she had a sneaking suspicion as to what this was about. Goon A got in the passenger front seat and goon B got in next to her. Rose stared out the window, keeping track of their route as the car took them to an unknown destination, but to a not so unknown person.

-s-s-s-

 

Mycroft stood towards the back of the darkened room, always good to be in a bit of shadows, the goldfish were innately frightened by the shadows. This one had been in Sherlock’s house the nearly 20 hours since the seeming miniature earthquake that had shaken Sherlock’s flat and they had hardly even seen a silhouette after the initial sighting, and this would simply not do. Moriarty might be gone, but there were other threats out there. The run in Sherlock and Dr Watson had had with the bomb on the train car would haunt Mycroft for weeks.

The blonde got slowly out of the car, Mycroft watched her glance around the surroundings then her eyes dart strait to him, quickly glancing him over, assessing him. He might have been impressed, had had thought there were any substance to her assessment. But she had spotted him straight away so she wasn’t as slow as most, not that that was saying much really. Mycroft watched her gait as she approached, a gliding step, her feet ever so slightly tilted to allow a turn and bolt in any direction at a moment’s notice, and her right hand held minutely higher on the right, as tho used to having a gun at her hip. He thought military, and then dismissed it, looking at her hair and standing. Privately trained? Hmm, yes maybe, she may well be an issue he would have to deal with, oh that would make for a petulant Sherlock if she were a case to him.

She came to a halt four feet from him, almost exactly. Interesting he thought. Her actions displayed caution but no real fear; her face held a slightly puzzled tilt, her drawn together browns and slightly pursed half of her mouth indicated slight irritation. Irritation? Odd he thought, he had had her surrounded almost the moment she had stepped from her front door and had had taken her so silently and efficiently that ever Sherlock hadn’t noticed it had happened from his perch upstairs. Admittedly more brutish than his usual methods but he had no information on her yet, so cruder methods for now. And all he got was irritation?

He opened his mouth to tell her a little about herself and her movements, much the same as he had with John, only to be beaten to the verbal punch.

“Your power display was all very impressive, but wasted.” The blonde woman, peered up at him, “You can ‘deduce’ me as much as you like, but like your brother, you’ll get very little. Are you going to offer me a ‘meaningful sum of money’ too? To ‘ease my way’?”

Mycroft cocked his expressive eyebrow, this woman had more information than he was comfortable with, how much had Sherlock and Watson talked to her about? Tilting his chin to the left so his head leaned to the right, gave his trade mark chastising look, the one that made you feel just like the simpleton he saw you as. “I don’t see you as being amenable to such offers.” He stated, swinging his umbrella slightly. He would certainly not be offering this impertinent girl anything.

“Really? Shame that is, I could have used it to start a new life, again. It’s not easy you know, to start again on a new world.”

His jaw flexed and an eyebrow rose, why did Sherlock insist on socialising with the crazy ones? “I only need to deem you a threat or not.” Not showing the pinpoint of unease he always felt when assessing a potential threat to his younger brother. “If I decide you’re not appropriate to be around Sherlock I will simply have some terrible treasonous material found in your background, some awful terrorist affiliation in your past and you will disappear into a dark hole for a long time.” He finished with the slight smile he used when besting a lower being.

She suddenly grinned up at him disconcertingly; smile getting bigger. Then the growing grin dissolved into laughter. Bending slightly she gripped her sides and laughed until she was breathless. Mycroft looked down at her head in bewilderment, not an emotion he had felt in uncounted years with anyone but his brother.

She lifted her head, wiping a tear from one eye, letting out a few more giggles before drawing in a large breath. “Yea, you have fun with that. I don’t exist in this world.”

This time Mycroft smiled dismissing her words. Again with the crazy, the woman needed a new act. “You’re not very wise to underestimate what I can do.”

The strange woman cocked her head to the left, took a step towards him and moved to the side, circling him. “Oh I don’t think there is anything you can’t do Mycroft Holmes,” eliciting another raised eyebrow.

“He may well be a high-functioning sociopath, but you.”

She drew to a stop slightly behind his left side; the small weakness in his shoulder almost twitched at what, he had no doubt, was a coincidence. No one knew why his umbrella was mostly in his right hand. About the bullet he had taken, about why he hated leg work so much.

“You” she continued, her voice slightly lower, “They don’t even have a name for what you are, do they?”

She drew back to the front of him and took up her place of almost exactly four feet away again. “You have all those emotions and moral understandings he doesn’t, don’t you? And your even smarter than him aren’t you?” she queried, “You know them well enough to use them on and against other people but your extreme intellect means they are just there for you to use or dismiss if they are of no help at the time.”

Her eyes roamed over him again, taking in not a twitch of movement, which was as telling as his raised eyebrow. He felt her perusal like a physical touch, how very discomforting.

“Except for Sherlock, you care for him and worry about him. That’s why I’m here” abruptly, all the tension that had threaded her muscles seemed to melt away. He tilted his head again, she seemed lighter and taller. He hadn’t even realised there was tension in her, he was slipping. “Don’t worry, I'm not here to hurt Sherlock, I’m not even meant to be here.” She finished mysteriously. “He helped me, and I'm thankful to him for it, I owe him. I’m just a case, just someone he will figure out and lose interest in. Really, all you want to do is help him, that doesn’t make me your enemy.”

She took a step back and quarter turned, as if to go. Pausing and turning her head back she said, “My name is Rose, and I’d rather not make an enemy of you, but in the end you’re just a man, for all your intelligence and control of this county, not to mention your pathological boredom, and I’ve faced far worse.” She looked him directly in the eye, “You two boys possess a nearly inhuman intelligence, but you know what the most important word in that sentence is?”

“What would that be?” asked Mycroft with the air of feigned patience an adult would use with a babbling child. This conversation had not gone at all how he had planned and he was not happy about it.

“Nearly. Whereas I’ve know someone who actually possessed it. You will never be able to top that.”

That statement was made not with bravado or over confidence, but bald fact and no emotion. Rose turned and walked out through door the car had driven through and began to retrace the path the car had taken. She hated to have to act like a

Mycroft stood perfectly still for a moment of time, mind assessing and deducing every second of the interactions he had had with ‘Rose’. She was, different. He pulled his phone from his pocket, the face shot that had been taken of her sent instantly from the camera behind him. He focused and enlarged the shot and sent it to three different people. He would know everything in and about her life soon. Until then he had, dare he say it, someone interesting to consider. Her clothes were familiar but not quite right, shoes that were familiar but not quite right. Slightly off, something about the fabric, or maybe the scent coming off her, something just wasn’t right.

No. Not at all a regular goldfish.

 

-s-s-s-

He had nothing, no other explanations, no theories, no nothing. He had come up empty handed as to any other reason he had gained the results he had on the tests he had run. Sherlock knew every element on the periodic table, every form of metal that existed, every combination that could be made of the former to make the latter. But none of them came close to being similar to the metals that made up the two devices Rose had given him to study. The translator had worked on every language in the world; it had no seams, no way to take it apart. The damn laser had cut through everything he had tried it on, it had even made it half way through an uncut unpolished diamond he had pickpocketed from his attacker from the Jaria Diamond case before over heating in his hand. It shouldn’t have even been able to scratch the pebble. Scrapings from the amethyst like stone had shown it was not an amethyst, and that was the best he had. It also didn’t match any other crystals on earth, so short of this woman being an alien he had no choice but to accept her story. The evidence simply didn’t point in any other direction.

After what Sherlock felt was the mental equivalent to an ice cold shower he shuddered to acceptance of Rose’s story. Now he needed to think about the ramifications of the presence of this woman. If she could have gone back to her universe she would have already, clearly as she thought her family lost to her she couldn’t return. This further meant she had no history here, Mycroft was no doubt already well aware that there was a woman in his flat, if she had knowledge he felt could benefit the country he wouldn’t hesitate to take her. Sherlock was jolted from his deep concentration upon this realisation. Rose had no idea who Mycroft was or that she may be in danger. Looking around Sherlock realised it had already moved into afternoon, he had been unaware of time passing. Finding no Rose in the kitchen or bathroom Sherlock moved up the stairs to her room and knocked. When there was no answer Sherlock opened the door to look inside, the bed was empty, made and the pillow settled from not having been moved for a few hours, she had not been here recently. Her bag sat next to the bed, her clothes from the previous day in a pile next to it. These details that Sherlock took in a bare moment told him she had planned to return fairly soon from the time she had left.

Stepping back though the door Sherlock closed it behind him and started down the stairs, he would ring Lestrade and tell him to have his least annoying officers looking for her. Sherlock heard the front door close just as he reached the turn in the stairs heading down to the living room. Listening to the steps on the stairs told Sherlock it was John who approached not Rose. Heading to his chair Sherlock scooped his scarf and jacket from the small table near it. He shrugged into the dark arms of the coat as John came through the door.

“Sorry I couldn’t get here this morning Sherlock I got caught…” John tailed off in seeing Sherlock doing up his scarf.

“Are you going out? Where is Rose? Is she any better today?”

“Rose is gone.” Stated Sherlock moving past John to descend the stairs.

“Gone?! What do you mean gone?” John’s voice slightly louder turning to catch up.

“Gone, out the door, most likely to look around the city, acclimatise herself.” Sherlock stated impatiently as he moved down the stairs and towards the front door.

“How could you let her go out? She apparently lost her family and you just let her go off to wander the street? I thought you said she needed to be kept away from Mycroft until we knew more about her.” John followed Sherlock down the stairs and to the front door, anger apparent in his voice even to Sherlock.

John had no idea, thought Sherlock, no idea how much Rose needed to stay away from Mycroft. He had to find her. For the case! His need to know what had happened to her, where she had vanished to without her precious bag for so long had nothing to do with unwanted feelings like worry and everything to do with the mystery she still held. He didn’t want to lose such a case. That was all this was.

“I know enough about her John, we have to find her before Mycroft does or we will never see her again.”

John blinked at Sherlock's dire pronouncement. Ever the drama queen, but he couldn’t dismiss the statement if Sherlock actually thought the woman might be in danger.

Getting to the street Sherlock stopped. With a sinking feeling he realised he had no real idea where Rose might go. Or if Mycroft had gotten to her, and discovered even a small trace of what Sherlock knew, where he would take her. For the first time in his life Sherlock had nothing to go on, no ideas to try and no way of changing the situation.

 

Half a city away a sleek black phone buzzed much sooner than expected.

_No identity found._

Half way between the two points Rose was lost and cursing a blue streak. Jack would have been proud.


	7. The Race to Rose

Sherlock put his phone to his ear, the ringer already sounding through to phone of DI Lestrade.

“Sherlock I haven’t been able to find anything on your blonde and I'm busy so whatever this is it will have to…”

“I know all that needs knowing about Rose detective, that is not why I called.” Sherlock cut the man off, in no mood to suffer the banalities of Lestrades’ attempts to keep him from what he needed. 

“Rose has disappeared and I need her found.” Sherlock was already mapping the streets of London in his head.

“So she needed a break from you? No need to put a BOLO out on the poor girl, everyone needs time off from you Sherlock.” Sherlock's patience snapped its last small thread; it had so few as it was.

“She didn’t run off for air! She doesn’t know London, she may be lost or hurt and if Mycroft has gotten hold of her you can guarantee I will never see her again!” Sherlock snapped his words out into the phone in sharp and precise words. There was a ringing silence on the other end of the phone but Sherlock didn’t give the DI time to talk any way as he continued.

“You have a picture of Rose, send it out and contact me as soon as someone finds her.”

Hanging up on the detective Sherlock pulled up the picture of Rose he had sent himself from Lestrade’s phone, putting it into a message he sent it to every phone in the homeless network he had established. At least one person in every area had a phone he had provided so that base was covered.

**Find her now. Watch her.**

Sherlock put his phone back in his pocket and brought his hands to his temples. Scrunching his face he sorted through every street in London, streets to and from his house, streets heading toward obvious landmarks, towards shops, towards anything there was a logical reason Rose might go. Lastly he added the likely areas Mycroft might take Rose to question her. Twitching his head from side to side has his mind sped back thought the route he had chosen as slightly more likely Sherlock snapped back to attention and threw his arm out for a cab. He turned to John,

“I’ll take this and head to the lower part of London, you walk from here towards central London, call me the moments you find her.” Turning Sherlock swept into the cab and gave his instructions to the driver. There was no need to go slow, he would pick her out of a crowded room with ease, a street was nothing.

John stood on the pavement; he was well used to Sherlock's single-minded focus when it came to a case but the concern for someone’s safety was a new one. John felt reminiscent of the first time Sherlock had taken him on a case and left him there in his rush to solve it. Well he had directions this time at least, shaking his head in annoyance and huffing slightly John shrugged deeper into his jacket and turned down the street towards central London.

-s-s-s-

Mycroft looked at his phone in disbelief. The tracing abilities he had at his call were greater than anyone elses in this country, and quite a few others. Sending the picture to four further people Mycroft waited a few more minutes for his final answer. These people could and would find the history on anyone, no one existed in this modern world without leaving a trace and these people made their living finding them, and quickly. And Mycroft had said with all due haste. Not something he had ever said before. An alert from his phone drew his gaze back. A contact from the police station informed him Sherlock had put an alert to find the woman. Interesting, he considered her important enough to involve the police so quickly. Mycroft turned the possibilities over in his mind the implications of this. The lights of the darking city flashing over his face as his car drove forward. His phone chimed again.

_No identity found._

Mycroft raised his voice slightly,

“To Baker Street.” He informed the driver who promptly turned around and headed towards his brothers residence. If Sherlock had enlisted the police in his search he had also contacted his distasteful contacts in London’s homeless population. Mycroft wouldn’t bother trying to run the two of them down, they would return to Baker Street, he would simply await them there. Much easier.

-s-s-s-

To say Rose was displeased with her current situation was like saying a Slitheen in a person suit smelled a little off, and that would encourage Rose to tell you exactly where you could put said offensive alien. Rose was so hopelessly lost that she wanted to scream, this looked so like her London, even Pete’s Worlds’ London had some distinct features that were true to the London she had grown up in. But this, this was a maze of familiar named streets with unfamiliar directions. Names she knew in places other names should have been. Corners where there should have been straits. Alleys where there should have been shops. Parks where there should have been malls. Damnit even the Thames seemed slightly off!

Rose came to the entrance of a long jogging park by the bank of the Thames. It was nice, a few benches under the trees, people running back and forth, because it was a normal day for them. Rose sat on a seat just back from the track and looked out over the river, sighing she rubbed a hand over her ankle, Rose was as fit as any torchwood agent but the day had not been one of her best so far, dark was closing in fast and she was utterly lost, no means of communication and no real currency. A few coins in one pocket that she didn’t even know would be useful in this universe. Sighing again Rose got to her feet, time to look less at the streets and their names and try to remember more the land marks she had tried to memorise getting here. Observations weren’t her major strength, assessing people, safety judgements, she could do that but it didn’t help her right now.

Walking back to the entry to the park Rose turned the direction she hoped would take her back to Baker Street. She bumped into a shaggy looking older lady, nearly knocking both to their behinds. Rose recovered first and reached over to help the lady, clearly a vagrant.

“I’m sorry,” apologised Rose. “I wasn’t watching where I was going.”

The old lady seemed to peer at her a moment, “Quiet alrigh’, don’t got a few coins do ya?” she asked.

Rose fished about half the change out of her pocket and handed it to the lady, “Here, I don’t know if it will help you really but take it.” Rose smiled at the ladies thanks and headed off.

The old woman peered after the retreating blonde, wondering what Sherlock wanted with her, though she seemed nice enough, the stooped woman pulled her small phone off and sent away a message confirming contact and the direction the woman had taken, she knew the pick pocket that ran that street, he’d watch her from here.

Sherlock looked at his phone when the message tone sounded. “Turn up ahead.” He instructed to the cabbie.

The kid had been watching Rose since she had started down the street, she could feel it. Every few meters he would shift slightly to keep her in sight. He wasn’t that dangerous, might try to lift her wallet, if she had it on her, but other than that, he just seemed to be watching her. Rose was concentrating on not seeming to watching the boy in the shadows so much she didn’t see the breaks in the sidewalk until she tripped right over them. Twisting her ankle slightly, Rose’s face scrunched a little in pain, her hands stung a from with grazes.

A hand grabbed Rose just as she was pulling herself up off the ground; whoever it was lifted her a little roughly. She started to struggle, someone getting hands-y was the last thing she needed today.

“Easy there luv, I aint gonna hurt you, just helpin you up.”

The kid’s rough voice and accent told her the same his clothes and bearing had. Surprisingly though she didn’t feel him rifle her pockets. Gaining her feet Rose looked at the boy, because he was just that, much younger than she had first thought. A kid. His hands shifted and her eyes drew to them as he sent a message on a phone that looked much nicer than she would have thought he’d would have.

“Well thank you.” Rose said as she moved to go past the boy.

“Wait up there.” Cautioned the kid, putting out a hand to her arm to bring her to a stop. Rose looked at the kid questioningly; she felt no fear of him.

“Sherlock’s lookin for you, just wait here and he’ll be here real soon.” The boy said. Rose blinked in surprise.

“How do you know Sherlock? How do you know he is looking for me?” Rose didn’t think he’d even notice she was gone let alone come looking when he did.

The boy shrugged, “No idea, the message sent out was just to find you.”

Rose raised a brow; she was getting plenty of practise at it between the Holmes brothers. He made it sound like Sherlock had an information net spread out over London, though thinking back to the peering old lady maybe he did. Rose stopped to marvel at the thought of such a network, the homeless, the displaced, they were everywhere. Nothing would go unseen. Rose looked to the boy again; he looked slightly uncomfortable being so close to her, in the lights of the street, she took pity on him.

“Well thanks for helping me,” she said cheerfully, because if the boy was right and Sherlock was en route then she would be back at Baker Street soon enough and that meant a cup of tea was in her immediate future. Excellent.

“I’ll just go wait under that light, he’ll see me from there.” Smiling at the boy Rose moved to where she had indicated then turned to give him another smile, only to realise he was gone. Well he’d be somewhere close, he seemed to want to watch her until Sherlock arrived.

After waiting a few minutes Rose started to get cold, not moving any more was making her aware of her lack of scarf and hat. Ducking her head down Rose raised her collar, peering intently at her shoes as she tried to ignore the wind. Lifting her head as a car drove towards her Rose looked up to see the face of Sherlock looking out a cab window straight at her. A grin lit up her face.

\---

Sherlock received the text from a local pickpocket and directed the cabbie to the street. As they neared it Sherlock shifted closer to the window, looking along the street with intensity, not wanting to miss anything. Sherlock had refused to worry on the drive, he had every confidence his network would find her before any police officer did, they would prevent anyone from just taking Rose off the street. He refused to give into the sirens call of worry at the thought that Mycroft might find something interesting about Rose, or worse yet, find there was nothing on her at all. He needed something, some story that would explain the strange woman and her presence in his house.

There! Near the middle of the street, beneath a lamp, was Rose, her collar raised against the chill and staring intently at the ground, he couldn’t see her face. As the car neared and drew to a slow stop Rose raised her head and looked at him, her face breaking into a grin. Sherlock smiled back, sheer relief at seeing her unharmed taking him by surprise. He shoved the feelings at the door in his mind and settled his face into a flatter look, he did not like the feelings they roused his instinct to lash out, to protect himself.

Rose watched the answering smile come to Sherlock before it vanished and left a rather stern countenance in its place. Oh balls, he was annoyed she had gotten herself lost. He was going to be even less impressed when she told him of her visit to his brother.

Sherlock got out of the car and started forward so Rose stepped out to meet him half way. She would have to think fast to keep the peace between the brothers over this, she wasn’t stupid, Sherlock was petulant and petty with his brother at the best of times from what she could gather, this infringement on his case would not be taken well.

As Rose started towards Sherlock and the cab he immediately noted her slight limp, what had caused it? Had Mycroft gotten to her? He doubted his brother would hurt her but had Rose resisted going along with him his minions may well have been rough with her. Sherlock's brow gathered at the thought, it never ceased to amaze him just how many people in the world he’d like to assist out windows and on to bins.  

Sherlock reached Rose before she reached the cab, stepping close he peered into her face, no marks. Good.

Sherlock, I'm sorry, I didn’t mean to get lost. It’s all so different here…” Rose trailed off and raised her hand to brush her hair back in a nervous gesture. Sherlock’s nostrils flared a little at her nervous comments and movements, teeth bared ever so slightly, a primitive reaction he hadn’t felt in years. He raised a hand towards her face as she tucked her hair back, snagging her sleeve with a single finger and lowering the cuff slightly. No marks nothing to show restraints or force but grazing on the heels of her hands, suggesting she had fallen, or been pushed.

Looking towards her face again Sherlock asked in his deep voice, made deeper by concern, “Are you hurt?”

Rose blinked in confusion at his actions and words, not what she had expected from the look on his face.

“I’m fine I tripped over some cracks not watching where I was going. Two of your friends have been keeping an eye of me though.” Rose indicated to the shadows the pickpocket had been lurking in. Sherlock was unsurprised she had been alerted to his network.

“Very well, get in we need to get back to Baker Street.” Sherlock instructed motioning back towards the cab.  Rose nodded and climbed into the cab and over to the far side of the seat. Sherlock followed and again gave instructions to the cabbie, the man was making a nice fare out of all this.

“Sherlock I need to tell…” Rose began but Sherlock abruptly cut her off,

“Not here. We will be home soon.”

Rose subsided, not happy with his tone but aware of his reasons.

Sherlock looked at Rose, an apology on the tip of his tongue for his abruptness but he held it back, he wasn’t one to apologise, and certainly not over keeping her safe. He had no way of knowing what conversations would get back to his brother. Such paranoia was exhausting.

Rose stared out the window as the streets went by, trying to note anything she could for future excursions, it kept her mind busy rather than not so looking forward to the coming conversations.

Arriving at the flat Rose got out and moved around the car while Sherlock paid the driver and got out to join her. He glanced around and up at his windows and cursed.

“For god’s sake! I should have realised he’d just come here.” Sherlock seized Rose by the elbow and under the pretence of dragging her to the door in agitation he leaned down and his deep voice skittered down her back. ”No matter what happens from here go with what I say and do, this is very important.” Rose nodded almost imperceptibly and waited for him to open the door. 

Damnit! Think! Sherlock berated himself as they climbed the stairs to his waiting brother. He had to come up with a story for Rose and now. His mind processed and flung aside story after story, looking for something that would hold up under the scrutiny of his brother. Entering the living room Sherlock observed his brother in John’s chair sipping tea Mrs Hudson had obviously made him. No one else had accompanied his brother, either he wasn’t here to take Rose or felt he didn’t need force to do so. I’d like to see him try, Sherlock thought to himself. Motioning Rose to take the lounge Sherlock moved to the window area that held his violin stand and picked up his bow. Turning back to his brother Sherlock observed his relaxed posture and slight grimace at the distaste of the tea.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit brother?”

“Why I thought I would come and meet your new flat mate, see how you are settling in after the rather close call in the subway, it’s a mere week since you saved the seat of government. You must be bored by now.” Mycroft looked Sherlock over, “Is that why you’ve started taking in cases from the street? Do tell me about the fascinating Rose you’ve come by.”

Sherlock took in every word from his brothers revealing sentence and processed them at lightning speed, still searching for a story to present. The marked lack of subtlety of the entire set of remarks was very unlike Mycroft, he was thrown or unsettled by something. He had searched Rose up and found nothing then, judging by how he knew her name and the very un-subtle insult, she had obviously seen him today and managed to irk him. His brother had nothing and was concerned. No, not concerned, as he watched Mycroft eye Rose intently, he was intrigued. Sherlock's eyes narrowed, this was his case and nothing to do with Mycroft, this woman held a wealth of new information on topics he had never even considered before, he would not be letting that go. On a deeper unacknowledged level, Sherlock would not be letting Rose leave here with his brother for entirely different reasons.

At Sherlock's non response Mycroft turned full to Rose, seated in a relaxed position watching the two at war. Mycroft got to his feet and approached her; Sherlock stiffened and took a step forward, the muscles in his arms and shoulders tightening.

Mycroft stopped a few feet from Rose, directly between her and Sherlock, where Sherlock saw this as a threat, Rose saw it for the protective gesture it was.

“Why don’t you exist?” asked Mycroft. Rose frantically thought of any reason she could that would convince the man she was no threat. Her eyes falling on Sherlock's laptop the realisation came to her.

“Moriarty.”

Sherlock's eyes widened. Perfect! He could build on this! Oh she was smart, she reduced her danger by reminding Mycroft of the truly dangerous one. And that they had beaten him, and so if she did pose a threat it wasn’t something to be unduly worried over. Play on his arrogance. But it was more than that, she was giving him an opening, he saw her look at the laptop, she had clearly read enough to know the story of Moriarty, he could do anything, and so anything could have happened to her in connection with him.

Mycroft turned to look at Sherlock after his raised eyebrow failed to elicit further response from Rose. Another eyebrow she would be waxing at the first opportunity, these boys needed to learn they had other facial features. She had done what she could, the ball was in Sherlock's court now. In the briefest meeting of his eyes and hers, he reassured her he had this well in hand now. His mind built the story of Rose’s life in the barest of moments.

“Really? Well isn’t that interesting, do you care to elaborate Sherlock?”

“Rose came to me a few days ago, having heard of my miraculous return to life in London. She was unfortunate enough to attract the attention of Moriarty not long before his fall two years ago.”

“I see” commented Mycroft

“Rose made the mistake of declining an offer of employment from Moriarty. So he burnt her.”

“Burnt her?” asked Mycroft with more interest.

“Yes, Rose’s rejection came at the time Moriarty was most unhinged, his punishment was to erase her, her family and boyfriend, she survived but it’s as if she never existed in the world.”

Mycroft turned again to Rose, who looked up towards him, she thought of all she had lost and the pain of it showed on her face, he would interpret it as pain at what she had lost and been through. And it was, but he would never know how close to the truth much of the story came. It rubbed at the wound of her grief, Sherlock knew just what to make the story so her reactions would suit.

“And Rose just suddenly decided you could help her?” asked Mycroft, though more interested now than wary. The story matched the circumstances and he was well aware of what Moriarty could do. He would retain some suspicions though.

Rose herself answered this time, “I figured if Sherlock could manage to kill Moriarty and fake his death for so long then maybe he could fake me a life. I have no place in this world, but I’d like one.”

Rose glanced down, now was her chance to actually take the step forward to the sort of life that could still help people. Really all Rose wanted was to, for a time to fall from notice, to give into the beckoning depression and just let her life dissolve. She had been so strong for so long now. But a promise asked of her so long ago nagged at her. The Doctor, when he had been all leather and anger, had asked her to have a good life, for him. He had loved a poem that she remembered now, the last part of it summing up her situation.

_The woods are lovely, dark and deep_

_But I have promises to keep_

_And miles to go before I sleep_

_And miles to go before I sleep._

She took the plunge, made the decision to start again.

“I’ve gained experiences over the years and they could come in handy for Sherlock. Especially now he is mostly down an investigative partner. Someone needs to pop his ego occasionally.” She finished with a slight smile.

Sherlock’s eyes widened again in surprise, Rose was suggesting signing on to investigate cases with him? Did he want that? He would have to deal with that later. For now getting Mycroft out with the answers they had given him was the priority.

“Well I suppose what Sherlock wants to do with a female in his life is his prerogative.” Said Mycroft slightly distastefully, he turned to Sherlock and asked,

“What have you said to this proposal?”

“I agreed to help Rose establish an identity and give her a day or so to see if she is any sort of investigator. We were going to come to your office tomorrow to gain your assistance in procuring the required documents, but since you’re here I'm sure you will have them ready and waiting when we arrive.”

“Hmm, well I suppose I can arrange for such things.” Taking a few steps closer to Sherlock Mycroft said to him quietly

“Sherlock I know something here is not right. I’ll find out one day”

Mycroft turned to Rose. “Good evening to you, see you both soon.” Turning Mycroft descended the stairs. Silence reigned in the living room as they both listened for the front door to close behind him. As the sound reached them Sherlock turned to Rose with a raised brow.

“So you want to investigate cases with me?” Sherlock inquired, if he tried to put any more of his emotions behind that door, there would be little left of it but splinters.

“After I wax your eyebrow off.”

 


	8. Forwards From Here

“What has made you feel the need to threaten my facial features?”

“Between you and your brother today I’ve had enough eyebrows raised at me to supply a training salon.”

Sherlock’s face stilled at the confirmation of the topic he had spent so much energy stressing over in the last hour. Her injuries were superficial and explained, and from his own experiences of the interrogation techniques of the world he knew she would be moving far differently had she been truly interrogated. This meant her meeting with his dear brother had been as voluntarily as was possible when it came to Mycroft. She had clearly left under her own steam as Mycroft would have had her returned to his doorstep. The muscle in the L of his jaw flexed as he considered that she had likely been taken from his very doorstep. Rose had clearly also not been what Mycroft had expected to cause him to do a further search after she had left. He had not had the details to be able to do it prior nor the lack of manners to do it during her time in his sphere, she would never have been allowed to leave it had he. His presence in Sherlock's home must have been seen as the most expedient way to find her again with the added bonus of observing Sherlock's own behaviour towards the woman.

He had been sure to give little away to his brother, though he realised there was little to really give away, he knew so little about the woman. Her origins had been put aside for the time Mycroft had been here, the focus had been on her current predicament. The story concocted needed to be expanded. He knew much of her real history could probably be incorporated to give an ease to the story that full lies could not feel.

Lifting his eyes again to Rose he moved forward with the needed conversation.

“Clearly your interactions with Mycroft left much to be desired, what did you give away?’ he asked abruptly.

“Nothing of any significance, I debased him of a few notions and told him a little about himself and reassured him I was no threat to you.”

“So you made yourself as interesting as possible so that he was guaranteed to look further into you and now placing us in this position? Well done, and I thought you were reasonably smart.” Sherlock finished snappishly and very rudely.

Rose stood quickly, she knew she had probably not handled his brother as well as she could have but she had had little in the way of choices.

“Look, I may have been a bit on the mysterious side to him but it’s not like I had anything else going for me! I had been pounced on the moment I left the damn house! I had no information from this world on him, I had no way of countering him or answering his questions, I had no back up or fall back team, nothing I'm used to working with and I needed more time to get back here and figure out a way of integrating into this world!”

Rose stopped and took a breath and stepped around the coffee table to take a step closer to Sherlock, coming nearly toe to toe with him.

“You should never have left the house.” Replied Sherlock arrogantly, shifting his body slightly back from the angry blonde that had invaded his personal space. Rose’s anger seemed to snap slightly in that air around here that always vibrated with her unusual feeling.

Taking another deep breath Rose stabbed a finger into Sherlock’s sternum “Why not? I had no way of knowing I’d be abducted within sight of your door, under a window the great Sherlock Holmes was standing near! I told you I was going to get air; you didn’t even blink, too lost in your own head.”

Shaking her own head, Rose turned from the bemused looking Sherlock, she didn’t have the energy for this, moving towards the kitchen she decided that cup of tea would do well now.

“This is pointless, a waste of energy. We would be better off spending the time expanding on the story you’ve established. My mystery worked into it nicely so not as much harm done as you seem to think.” Rose flicked on the kettle and reached for a cup in the sink near her. Looking over to Sherlock she realised he was still standing in the same spot but had turned his head to watch her.

Sherlock had watched as Rose ardently defended her actions, though the meeting seemed to work in their favour now, things could have been very different. He watched as the defensiveness melted away as fast as it had fired up, tiredness replaced indignation, her shoulders had dropped slightly and she had moved away from him. Following her with his eyes he continued to watch as the tiredness in her features took on a determined slant as her thoughts turned to the story they needed to supply to the world. Well to Mycroft, no one else would truly look into her or care that she had not existed before her arrival in Baker Street.

“Very well.” Said Sherlock decisively, snapping his mind from its speeding train of thought, the last thing he needed was to consider anything that might have gone wrong, they hadn’t and Rose was safe, for now.

“Who were your parents? We need to establish if any of your family existed here and then go from there.”

Rose looked up from her steeping tea in surprise. “You’ve decided to believe me?” she asked

Sherlock turned from his laptop to which he had turned, looking towards the objects of Roses on the table he simply replied, “When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains…”

“However improbable must be the truth.” Finished Rose almost absently, her Doctor had loved that quote. Sherlock took a moment and waited for her to explain how she had known what he had intended to say. He dismissed his surprise, deciding that she would be surprising him often, and it was much easier and less distracting to just take it in stride. Glancing up at his silence Rose looked a little guilty.

“Sorry, go on.” Sherlock remained silent. Rose cocked a hip out and placed a hand on it.

“Haven’t you figured it out yet?” she asked ever so slightly mocking, it wasn’t often she would get to have info he didn’t from now on, she had to enjoy it while she could. “Parallel world Sherlock, you seem to know the theories, think it through.” Rose returned to her tea, finishing the process and taking a sip to try it out, not bad. Strong with an oddly woodsy after taste.

Sherlock's mind ran through the information it had before nearly knocking him over with the force of realisation, he was so stupid! Just like his brother had thought when they were growing up! He’d even thought about it already without connecting the dots! Her parents might have a version here so why wouldn’t there be a version of him somewhere in one of her worlds. Or both. But that didn’t explain how she knew him, they might both be from London but it was still a large city with en mass of people, the universe was not so lazy that she had coincidently known him before landing in his living room. Were that the case why his living room, it would have been a Sherlock she knew. His mind whirled in circles. Sherlock felt a rise of arrogant pride at the thought that there were other versions of him out there doing as he was somewhere, solving mysteries.

“You’ve known a version of me or seen me on the news.” Sherlock asserted with unflappable assurance.

“Nope.” Rose said flatly, making her way forward to John’s chair and settling herself in, curling her feet beneath herself. “Never met you once or saw you on a television screen, never even read about you in a police report and I read more of those than I ever did normal books.

Flap went Sherlock's assured arrogance.

“Then explain yourself,” Demanded the now rather annoyed detective.

“You were a story, written adventures by a man called Sir Arthur Conan Doyle in the 1880’s. In both my worlds you were just a story, not a real man.” Rose continued, “You were however the inspiration for plays and shows. A time traveller I met said stories of you lasted for millennia.” Rose finished quietly.

“Time travel?!” said Sherlock incredulously, really how much more did she expect him to believe? Now was not a time he wanted to dive into whatever he had stored on the theory of relativity. That there were stories of him but not an actual him was enough to swallow.

“That’s stories for another time don’t you think? We have enough else to getting along with.” Rose said with exasperation, though really it was her own fault, she had not meant to bring in time travel yet, she needed to control her mouth more.

“Very well,” Sherlock conceded. Turning back to his laptop Sherlock pulled up the internet and went to work, Rose supplying the names and history of her family.

Rose was less surprised than Sherlock that her family line did indeed exist in this world. Nor that they had died in a car crash a three years prior. Rose bowed her head in sadness as a hope she hadn’t even known she was harbouring was crushed.

“Well that is an advantageous turn,” Sherlock commented. “This will make your story much easier to confirm. It is easy to imply Moriarty killed off these people as part of retaliation against you.”

Rose stared at the side of Sherlock's face in disbelief and not a small amount of anger, he really held little to no empathy at all. She promptly threw her discarded tea spoon at his head.

Flicking his hand up in an impressive display of reflexes Sherlock caught then deposited the spoon on the table next to the laptop and continued on with his explanations. Her shock and ever so slight admiration over wrote her anger. She knew it was pointless to hold on to her anger anyway.

“We have established that you have been erased from the various government records so where you truly schooled and travelled is irrelevant, they can be your stories to develop but keep it simple and close enough to the truth that you won’t forget the details.”

Rose was starting to feel ever so slightly annoyed; she had done this before, unlike the detective. And it should be easier this time, it’s not like she was going into a rich media focused family again, or working with aliens. Comparatively this time should be a piece of cake.

“And why was I erased exactly?” Rose asked, mostly just to see if he had an answer.

“You were a privately trained guard and assistant to an information broker.” Stated Sherlock simply, Rose blinked, considering. It covered all the bases. Her unconventional training, her ability to assess people, how Moriarty would have met her and wanted her on side. Rose had become worldly enough through her experiences in Pete’s World; information had an amazing ability to travel, lining pockets on its way. Information, samples, tech, it had all gone missing at one time or another over the years and Rose had often been called in to retrieve it or deal with the person dealing the items. Information was this millennia’s currency.

Leaning back Rose considered the man in front of her, his remarkable mind would never cease to amaze her.

“Alright then, past established, where to from here?”

Sherlock turned his eerily ethereal coloured eyes on Rose and considered her a moment. Did she really want to work cases with him? He still didn’t really know what she had done in her other world.

“What did you do in your world?”

Rose shifted slightly, what to tell him now? He accepted other universes, but would he accept other worlds here in this universe? She hadn’t seen any evidence of aliens yet, mind you not that she had much of a chance to look. Decided that half the truth and no lies until he knew her better was probably not the best way to go but the most expedient.

“I was in a security force that dealt with unusual occurrences.” Said Rose slowly. Sherlock thinned his lips, she knew that he knew she was hiding something.

“Yes there is more but it’s not relevant is it?’ she asked frankly, “My life there is over, and I need to start again here. The skills I had there will help you here.” Rose stared into his eyes, “Just like I told your brother, I'm no danger to you, I owe you really, I'm not here to hurt or hinder in anyway. And I’d like to work with you. I’ve little else to offer in any other field.” She finished depreciatively.

Sherlock doubted that but her confidence issues were hers not his. Did he really want her that close? He didn’t trust this draw he felt to the different feeling of her any more than he could measure or explain it. Looking at her sitting in the chair the shimmer flowed and eddied around her, unseen but no less real. The pull he felt to her was like that of metal to the magnet. If nothing else, he supposed that alone was worth further study, and she had so much information about subjects he wanted to know more about. A repetition of the earlier excuse, though he refused to acknowledge the thought.

Corralling his thoughts Sherlock refocused to the woman awaiting his approval.

“Well, John will be married soon so I need another partner, you can have a few weeks and I will decide if you are good enough to stay on.” Sherlock finished imperiously, he needed to establish a boundary with Rose, not allow her to realise she had an effect on him that might sway him to her.

“Now,” Sherlock said loudly, jumping to his feet and ending the discussion before Rose could put in her thoughts on the probationary period, “I believe it’s high time we both ate, fish and chips?”

Rose grinned and hopped to her feet as well, hell they had chips here it couldn’t be too bad. She could make a life here with the aid of chips.

_We are the dreamers, shapers, singers and the makers._


	9. Bonding Over Eyeballs

 

Rose left Mycroft’s office feeling like she had been stripped and interrogated. The elder Holmes had questioned every single part of her life to establish her validity. She had stuck to the absolute truth until 19 when she told the story they had concocted about how the broker had found her in her old work place. How he had felt she looked and sounded typical enough that she would suit perfectly, no one would look at her and expect she could kick their butt or worked for a man who knew more than most governments. She had to give Mycroft his due; he knew how to ask the same question a number of times in every different way to gain the correct answer. He would have to get up earlier than that to catch Rose out though.

After tracing her family back as far as she could remember then recounting the training she had had with Torchwood as if it were with the broker had left Rose feeling raw and exposed, and she could barely contain her glee as Mycroft handed over her new I.D. The session had not given Rose reason to doubt her theory of the elder brother being the more dangerous, and the more intelligent. They had too’d and fro’d all morning, each knowing what the other was doing and countering it. Rose was mindful of the censure she had received from Sherlock about making herself too interesting to Mycroft so she tried to be as subtle as she could, though subtlety had never been a strong point of hers. Sherlock had spent the time seated next to Rose but slightly back so she couldn’t really see him without shifting to look at him, which she hadn’t, she wasn’t silly, always show a strong front. It had left her feeling very uneven though, like both men now knew much more about her than she did of them, this uneven keel left Rose wanting to lash out and feel protected again.

Taking a deep breath of somewhat fresh air Rose took stock of herself and a moment to gather her battered defences. She looked towards Sherlock, who was moving closer to the road to hail a cab to take them back to Baker Street. Well home now she mused, at least for now. Sherlock still had to approve her for investigating, but she felt he would. Rose knew she still held cards he badly wanted a peek at. She moved towards him, anticipating the cab to get them home where a cup of tea and a shower would help her feel fortified again. She froze mid step as an old feeling skittered down her spine, eyes had been locked on to her. Instincts from her days of universe jumping clamoured to the forefront of her mind as she looked to the very edge and end of the road and methodically moved over the area.

At about her 3 o’clock there was a man, older, balding with a neat little beard and moustache. Rimless glasses sat over high cheek bones and eye so cold Rose shivered. As if noting her visceral reaction the man smiled slightly. But it held confusion, a tilt to his head and posture; as though she were a math problem he had become ever so slightly stuck on. Rose had never met someone who so exuded heartlessness, she had known some ruthless characters in her time but this man took the cake, and set it on fire before dropping it off the clock tower.

A bus went past; blocking Rose’s view for a few seconds, when it had passed the man was gone. Like some sort of bad movie villain he was just gone. The cruelty and arrogance still seemed to reach across the road to Rose. Like a warning that this was not the last she would see of this man.

Rose stumbled forward slightly, causing Sherlock to reach out to steady her. He had seen her freeze and look to the other side of the road, but when he looked to the direction she had there was no one there. He watched her gather her feet under her and take a calming breath, much like the one taken after exiting his brother’s office. The first one he understood, he had years of exerting control in mitigating his reactions to Mycroft’s actions and still he had been hard pressed not to pull his brother up on his interrogation of Rose. He had to remain impartial at this point in the eyes of Mycroft. Sherlock had in turn admired her fortitude in the face of the grilling.

“What is it?” Sherlock quizzed as he flagged down a passing cab.

“Eyes” answered Rose simply, her demeanour stiffened to indicate she would answer no more until they were away from the current area.

“I see, well back to Baker Street then,” Sherlock’s mind began its customary whirl as they settled into the cab, there were a few simple answers to who Rose may have seen, his fame had sky rocketed again after his return from death, most likely it was a simple case of a ‘fan’ had seen him exiting Mycroft’s office with Rose. No doubt there would be an article in tomorrow’s paper about the mysterious blonde. He would have to question her closely on the look of this person, he didn’t doubt she would be able to recall the person accurately. He was not fond of the media attention, a description of the person would allow him to avoid them. It never occurred to Sherlock the eyes had not been looking at him.

Rose sat in silence for the ride back to Baker Street, focusing her eyes on the environment out her window still trying to familiarise herself with the roads and streets in her new London. All she wanted was to get back inside and have a cup of tea. And a shower would really not go amiss, the eyes she had met had left her with a dirty feeling, on top of the long morning she had already had.

As the cab came to a stop Rose hurried out and moved towards the dark coloured door, twitching anxiously she waited for Sherlock to join her and unlock the door. With an amused glance in her direction Sherlock did as she clearly wanted, and stepped back before she knocked into him in her rush to enter the residence. Rose powered up the stairs, bypassing the living room and continued up towards her room. Slightly short of bursting into the room Rose moved straight to her precious bag, only now realising that she had feared it had been somehow disturbed, whether by an agent of Mycroft's employ or someone connected to the eyes that had disturbed her so deeply. The instinct that had developed so deeply and kept her alive so many times had just about overwhelmed her in intensity when she had lit her own eyes on the older man. Never had she sensed such an inhuman feeling from a terrestrial being. Everything she had assessed from the man, not that she could name them, had screamed at her to run and not allow the man anywhere near her.

Perching on the edge of the bed Rose took a moment to collect herself, her hands traced over the beloved bag, fabric worn and still dirty, bulges here and there but all in all still, seemingly, untouched. Rose sighed at her silly allowance of letting her fleeting impression of a man across a street to affect her so badly. Grabbing her last pair of clean under things and trousers Rose moved towards the door, intending to shower and find Mrs Hudson, there was a much greater chance the little old lady would know where a washing machine was than Sherlock. Rounding the door way Rose and the very subject of her thoughts gave a little jump as they nearly ran into each other.

“Hello there dear, Sherlock just told me all about you! It’s so nice to have another person staying in the house, he can be such a cantankerous man.” Mrs Hudson smiled brightly and benignly up at Rose who returned the smile a little wearily.

“Thank you, I’ll be trying to find a job soon, along with helping Sherlock, so I can pay rent.” Rose finished a little uncertainly as the little grey curls around Mrs Hudson’s head bounced to the shaking of her head.

“Nonsense dear, Sherlock said Mycroft has provided you with a bank account because you’ve taken over from John in looking after the place and keeping Sherlock out of trouble.”

Rose glumly wondered what sort of strings were trailing behind that little favour.

Looking down at all the clothes in Rose’s hands Mrs Hudson happily changed from the slightly strained topic, “Are you looking to wash all that dear? I expect you’ve not got many clothes, I’ll take them for you and put them through a cycle, mind you next time you can do it, I'm not the house keeper,” the lady stated in what seemed to be an old complaint, leaving Rose feeling slightly bemused, there was obviously something there she was missing. “Just go in the door to the left of mine and there is a washing machine there under the stairs you can use.”

Seizing the clothes from Roses hand Mrs Hudson bustled away. Thankfully Rose had kept a good hand on the clothes that were clean, the little old lady had a stronger grip that you’d think to attribute to her, she had nearly done away with the whole handful of clothes.

Following at a slightly slower pace Rose moved down the stairs and entered the living room rather than follow the batty old dear any further. Looking towards the fire place Rose could see Sherlock was clearly lost in his mind again, and she was glad. Rose really didn’t want to go over her over reaction in the street until she had had her shower and tea. There was one thing that never failed to bolster a flagging female, a good hot shower. Rose did still miss even to this day the TARDIS’s endless hot water.

Sherlock snapped from his rapid fire musings to register Rose attempting to walk quietly into the kitchen, probably to the bathroom judging by the clean clothes in her hand.

“You’re missing a clean shirt.” Sherlock commented, slightly amused to see her jump minutely.

“Oh yea, um, Mrs Hudson is washing the other clothes so I figured I’d just wear this one till they are done.” Rose felt slightly off footed, yet couldn’t pin down why but it may well have to do with how he was watching her with such intensity, like a bug under a light.

Sherlock in turn was still scrabbling for his normally pristinely collected wits, Rose had a way of intruding into the depths of his mind, the aura around her (he had given up describing it as a feeling of difference all the time, how undetermined that sounded) seemed to be constantly reaching out to him, almost calling to him.

“I see you gave her a run down on the situation?” Rose asked defending slightly, still not sure why.

“She is much easier to deal with if given enough information to keep her brain occupied.” Sherlock stated with his usual cool disregard, then jarring Rose further he hauled on his extended arms and jumped to his feet.

“I have an old shirt you can use, not exactly an Anderson and Sheppard creation but then you’re not going to the palace in it. Mind you I went to the palace in a sheet once.” He finished almost absently as he one step short of dashed past her to the room that was his just after the bathroom.

Rose was left a little bewildered a second time in as many minutes. This was as different a situation to any other she had ever had as going to space for the first time had been. But all the practice was good for something, these days she always hit the ground running. Rose shook her head and continued into the kitchen, she’d put the kettle on after the shower, no point in rushing just to get to a hot kettle.

Rose had just opened the bathroom door when Sherlock reappeared with a garment in each hand. Handing over the one in his right first Rose saw it was a sleeveless male tank top like piece.

“This one should do for an undershirt,” Sherlock commented, “And this one was shrunk in the wash during one of Mrs Hudson’s oh so handy housekeeping moments. It should fit you.” He finished with a wry twist to his mouth. The shirt was a beautiful deep dark, almost mauve colour that shimmered ever so slightly.

Rose held both garments in her hands, running her thumb over the silk like shirt in something like reverence. It was a beautiful piece, she was hesitant to wear it, and she would have to be very careful with it.

“Thank you.” Rose looked up to him with a genuine smile. Sherlock put his hands in his pockets and leaned into the door way.

“You’re welcome. There are clean towels under the sink. We will go out later and get you some new clothes, it will be most inconvenient if I have to supply you with shirts every time we are called on a case and your garments are half way through a wash cycle.” He finished with the normal arrogance that generally graced his speech, it’d had been missing at the beginning of his sentence while he had been caught up in observing her hands on his clothes.

“Yes, I'm not looking forward to finding out I'm expected to jump like a puppet because of that money Mycroft has set up.” Rose frowned at the thought of being curtailed by the elder Holmes brother because he had provided the start-up fund for her new life.

“It was money owed to me for services rendered in service to Mycroft, and saving parliament, I had it put in an account made for you instead as my own expenses are covered for the time being.” Sherlock explained watching Rose carefully, would she be pragmatic and except the necessity of the action and the good will behind it? No matter how suspicious anyone who knew him might have been of the gesture he actually had a motive behind it that wasn’t entirely selfish, a fact that was niggling at him. The woman had nothing, had to start from the very start in a new world, not for the first time apparently, and he in some small way wanted to make it easier. Yes it would be much preferred cases weren’t stalled because her clothes were in the washer, or she didn’t have the appropriate dress to infiltrate a high class situation. There were any number of ways her having the money would benefit him, but it would also benefit her.

The entire line of thought had taken but a second to complete and was pushed aside just as fast leaving him to observe the rapid play of emotions over her face as she looked at the situation from all the angles she could perceive. Not as many as him of course but then no one could see what he saw. Resignation, appreciation and something else warred for dominance on her face. Finally the one he couldn’t identify won and her countenance settled. Placing all the clothes over the basin of the sink Rose stepped forward and wrapped her arms around his middle, laying her head on his chest for but a moment. She gave him a quick squeeze and said in a very heartfelt voice

“Thank you, for everything”

Sherlock was still frozen in place when a fraction of a moment and an eternity later Rose stepped away and over to the sink, bent down and grabbed a towel from the small pile and draped it over the tub at the opposite end of the shower. She pulled the curtain across and then reached behind it and turned on the tap, at the same time as turning her head back to watch the still stumped consulting detective.

The sound of the water galvanised Sherlock and he, with the utmost dignity, fled.

Rose snickered quietly as she closed the door behind him.

He may not have known what that third look on Roses face was but any lower form of prey would have. It was the look of the thrill of the hunt, the look of a top of the chain predator accepting a new situation fully and leaving behind the old territory. She was a woman who had crosses entire universes to get to one more-than-a-man being, she had helped to rebuild torchwood from the ground up. She had hunted and tracked and negotiated, she had earned her place as top field agent. And she had just fully given herself to this place and time. Rose wouldn’t just make a life here; she would make an amazing life.

-s-s-s-

Sherlock had passed through the kitchen before he was even aware he had left the bathroom door way, his mind had frozen the moment Rose had wrapped her arms around his midriff and mumbled quietly but sincerely her thanks. The freezing of his mind, the immobilisation of his thought process disturbed him greatly. The air of otherworldliness around her had just engulfed him, it had surrounded and seeped into his muscles and mind. Seating himself in his chair Sherlock decided it was finally time to take a look at the inner alterations that had become apparent since Rose’s impromptu appearance in his home. He settled comfortable and steepled his hands under his chin, sinking into his mind he found the door that he had placed all the unfamiliar feelings and reaction Rose had elicited in him.

Staring at the door for a long moment Sherlock ran his hand over its surface. It had changed, no longer a serviceable door of dark wood and normal handle, it was now a deep almost blood red in some places, its pattern bursting out from a central point like an explosion. Deep reds, light reds, reds so dark they were nearly black rushed out. Lines and swirls, patterns so complicated they were hard to follow.

Good god his own mind was turning against him. This unexpected turn threw Sherlock so much that the sound of someone coming up the stairs actually disturbed him from his thoughts.

Sherlock opened his eyes and lowered his hands to the arms of his chairs and watched in silence as one Molly Hooper came through the door with a smile. Sherlock smiled in return despite his disquiet and annoyance at being distracted. He had a soft spot for the pathologist who had been instrumental in helping him fake his own death. And working in the morgue also made her endlessly useful to Sherlock.

“Lestrade dropped by today, said you were on the hunt for someone, so I brought by the eyeballs you wanted, save you coming to get them.” Molly chirped brightly, glad to see the house was empty but for Sherlock. She turned to the kitchen and went to open the fridge before Sherlock had even had a chance to say anything in return. She loved her fiancé but there had never stopped being a flame in her heart for the consultant detective. Looking over to him he seemed to be staring down the hallway, still having not said a word. 

Yanking open the fridge with her right hand Molly turned her head to see what had captivated the man’s attention. Her eyes landed on a blond in tight jeans with what was clearly Sherlock's shirt on and damp messy hair from a shower. The sight caused Molly to drop the bag of eyeballs. Blood splattered the wall and a solitary eyeball rolled away from its compatriots down a foot or so of hallway to come to rest against the blonde’s toes. 

Rose eyed the woman in the lab coat wearily, good thing she had resigned herself to odd occurrences in her new life because the squishy cold feeling of the eyeball resting against her toes would have at least caused a shudder even just a few months ago. Rose bent and picked the eye up by the thick optic nerve at the back with the very tip of her fingers and stepped towards the woman holding the eye at arms length.

“Why are you putting eyes in the fridge?” asked Rose curiously.

“They’re for Sherlock,” said the woman bending down suddenly to scoop the wandering eyes back into their bag.

Rose looked to the man observing from his chair. Not lifting a finger to help she noted with no small amount of annoyance.

“Have you worn yours out with all that observing and no doing Sherlock?”

Sherlock felt the slightest warm shiver pass through him as his name rolled off her tongue smoothly with a tiny kick at the end. His reaction caused him to frown, but Molly grinned, the small snap to the woman’s words said she tolerated shit from Sherlock, about as much as Molly did. Women normally fawned all over the dark haired near-celebrity, this woman seemed to look at him with something closer to annoyance than reverence. Molly straitened and held out the bag to the blonde. Rose deposited the eyeball into the bag gratefully then moved directly to the sink to wash eye juice from her fingers. “Ick.”

“I’m Rose” Rose greeted the… she was guessing lab person of some sort, as she too moved to wash her hands after depositing the bag of eye into the fridge. The woman didn’t exude the arrogance that most doctors and surgeons had. Hell Rose knew even nurses held a certain aloofness, they had to have it, to survive and not burn out in their respective fields within the first few years.

“Molly Hooper, I'm a pathologist at St Barts.” Molly replied, score thought Rose.

“Are you a client?” Molly asked.

“I was,” replied Rose. “And now I'm doing a trial run with himself over there to help out with cases.”

“Oh, I tried that, but you know, I like figuring out dead people better than figuring out alive ones.”

Rose regarded Molly with amusement as she picked up a tea towel to dry her hands, there had been times she could certainly concur with that statement. Clearly Molly was ill at ease with Rose’s presence in Sherlock’s house, Rose wasn’t the clueyest person when it came to relationships but she would have had to be sensory blind not to pick up on the undercurrent the woman was producing by the bucket load.  Rose had no desire to make issues with people she would be likely to be seeing often in the future so it was really the best idea to put Molly at ease, and having a friend that looked to be close to her own age and knew about the sociopath she was now living with could only be a good thing.

“I’ll have to come to you for advice about it all then,” said Rose with a smile passing the tea towel to the slowly smiling woman, “Or we might find himself coming to you for bruise treatment cause I’ve slapped him a good one for talking down to me because I’ve not kept up with his thousand mile an hour thought process.”

Molly grinned at the sass, feeling as though she had made an ally in the eternal struggle with defence of one’s feeling against the force of Sherlock's hurtful habits. Both women turned grinning to look at Sherlock, imagining the detective cradling a bruised ego.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow in his own defence; feeling somewhat like his life had just taken a not so pleasant turn.         


	10. Mutual Secrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a short interlude to establish the relationship of Rose and Mary, because I think that these women would have a lot in common and their situations would really lend a level of understanding that neither would find anywhere else. I plan to build on this friendship for both of them, and for it to become as important to the women as the friendship between John and Sherlock is to them.

 

Molly made her way to the door, feeling oddly better than she had in a while, less alone. Rose finally finished making her cup of tea and seated herself on the long couch by the wall. Rose liked this spot, she could see the doorways and the windows, had her back to a wall and enough room to stretch out her legs. Yes thought Rose this would do as her spot nicely. Besides she was slightly out of Sherlock's eye line here, maybe he would forget her for a while and she could actually wind down for five minutes, her shower had been very nice but coming out to eyeballs and jealous pathologists fearing their position in Sherlock's life was being threatened was enough to kill what little relaxing she had been able to achieve.

Rose liked Molly, she smiled to herself it was always fun to disturb geniuses and befriending his friends was enough to keep Sherlock on his toes. He might find it easy to push around a single person or even a few people but a united force that had Rose in it was just what was needed to remind him the others don’t exists to work just for him. She hadn’t let a near millennia old alien push her around, Sherlock certainly wasn’t about to get away with it. Rose sank deeper in to the end of the couch and sipped her tea, she closed her eyes as the relaxing warmth radiated out wards after downing half the cup. She could relax here for the rest of the day quiet happily.

“Don’t relax too much Rose.”

Balls! Rose cracked open an eye, wondering if she could possibly ignore him. Nope, that was him sitting right on the other side of the coffee table, in a chair he had managed to drag over silently to avoid alerting her. There went any chance at escape as well. Rose sighed, she was smart enough to know he wanted to go over the incident outside his brothers office. Surly it was just getting blown out of proportion, so someone had been watching her and she had been creeped the hell out. She had just lost and started a life, in a new universe, again, surely she was entitled to one little freak-out over nothing. Right?

“Do we have to go over this now? I over reacted to some random guy who was probably just sightseeing.”

“Yes I’m sure you were just over-reacting, women are prone to such actions, however id like a description of the person as they were most likely looking for me not you, and I like to be aware of my ‘fans’ as a rule. They can be troublesome.”

Rose blinked, how the hell was she supposed to react to that? Pull him up on the insult? Deflate his arrogance? Narrowing her eyes Rose decided to combat the innate arrogance with its own source. 

Rose sipped the last of her tea calmly, “You tell me, you saw everything when you looked around when we left Mycroft's office didn’t you? It must be stored away in your head somewhere. I was just your average overwrought female, I can’t remember what he looked like.”

Getting up from the couch Rose turned her back on Sherlock and blinking at her in shock, she took her cup to the sink, rinsed it out and placed it in the cupboard then turned and walked back to the bathroom. It had been days since she had more than finger brushed her hair, surely a man who was as arrogant as that was vain to match so there was bound to be a hair brush around somewhere. Searching through the under sink cabinets Rose found a very large nearly complete first aid kit, spares of a high end shampoo and conditioner set, expensive shaver heads and a dusty package of condoms at the very back, looking at the expiration date on the back Rose saw they had actually expired. Letting out an amused chuckle she simply thought, interesting. Standing Rose checked the small space behind the sliding mirror, score! Rose sighed happily as she pulled the brush through her hair, it was the little things in life that made it easier to cope.

Rose cocked her head slightly at the light scuff of expensive shoes moving down the hall towards the bathroom, Sherlock moved to the door frame and leaned on it again and crossed his arms.  The two observed each other quietly, mutually wondering how such stubbornness could coexist for any length of time before their house became a crime scene.

“John and Mary will be here in 5 minutes, Mary wishes to take you shopping.”

“I see,” replied Rose non-committedly. Sherlock pulled his wallet out of his jacket and flipped it open. Taking out a shiny grey card he passed it to Rose.

“This is the card to your new account, there is enough in it to last a few months, the rent is taken out directly each month so don’t worry about that, remember while you are out to get a mobile phone.” Turning on his heel Sherlock walked back down the hall and Rose heard him switch the kettle on. So he had decided to sooth his hurt pride by not giving her a choice in going out, how very adult of him. Rose scoffed to herself, well getting away from him would be nice at this point any way. Finishing with her hair Rose moved out to the living room and bent to put her shoes on.

What he wouldn’t give for a cigarette right now. Sherlock moved to the fridge, he would complete his experiment on the eyeballs Molly had brought him while he waited for Rose to leave and John to get here. Taking the bag from the fridge he put it on a plate and opened the neck. Prodding a few eyeballs to the side Sherlock found a likely looking one. Glancing up Sherlock looked straight at a bent at the waist Rose, and accidently speared his promising looking eyeball. Humming with annoyance he picked up a different, rather tatty looking eyeball with his tweezers. Lifting his torch as Rose straitened he applied flame to the eyeball, in no way wishing she’d bend over again.

Both Rose and Sherlock turned their heads as a very odd sound floated up the stairs, sounds like someone throttling an owl thought Rose.

“John is here, Mary will be waiting in the car for you.” Sherlock stated looking back to his smoking eyeball. 

“Try not to leave any of those on the floor” said Rose pocketing the card and leaving for the stairs. Half way down she passed John, giving him a smile and a wink she bounded past him and out the door. Good luck to him she thought, hoping he could sooth the ruffled feathers in Baker Street.

Closing the door behind her Rose looked around and spotted Mary leaning on a car a few car lengths up the road, smiling Rose trotted up to Mary and leaned straight in to give her a hug. Mary stood rather stiffly in shock but loosened up quickly. With a slight smile of puzzlement she leaned back to observe the odd blonde.

“You look chipper for someone who spent the morning with Mycroft,” said Mary.

“No I'm chipper at being outside without either of the brothers Holmes in sight!” exclaimed Rose trotting to the passenger side door, “Now let’s go shopping!”

Mary shook her head getting into the driver’s seat and starting the car, she was still wary of the woman but it was almost impossible not to like her.

-s-s-s-

Rose could read the lines of discomfort on Mary as she moved a few isles over, she had obviously requested this shopping expedition to sort out what ever sort of threat she thought Rose might be but now wasn’t sure how to go about confronting her about it. Moving from the underwear isle with her half full basket to the pants isle Rose considered the problem as well. A direct approach had its merits, they were both practical women, beating around the bush was obviously only going to confuse matters. Mary moved up the isle with a jumper in her hands for Rose to yay or nay.

“Sherlock sent John a message with your background story,” Mary spoke up, holding up the jumper as if to compare it colour to Roses own.

“I’d like to believe it, John does. But I don’t, it’s a lie isn’t it?” Mary seemed to ask, but the sentence had been a statement.

“It’s as much the truth as your history is,” Rose replied knowingly and defensively. Neither woman wanted a fight but neither would be cowed or intimidated by the other, both where standing at the ready to defend the only life they had from the risk the other seemed to pose. Tense moments passed as the women eyed one another, Rose wondered absently if Mary was aware she had taken a combat ready stance, leaning towards the side Rose was holding the basket. Rose decided one of them had to give in first, both had everything to lose. Rose moved towards Mary and said in an undertone,

“I don’t know what you used to do to need to lie to everyone and I don’t care. I know it was dangerous and made you a very dangerous person, but I have no interest in outing you to John and Sherlock when you clearly care for them both. I don’t want to be your enemy.” Said Rose with complete honesty, “All I want to do is live my life, yes the story is a fake but it’s not far off the truth. The main truth is that I have nothing and no one anymore… and you know what that’s like don’t you?” said Rose shrewdly as the corners of Marys eyes twitched in reaction to Rose’s words.

“I think we both just want to live simple lives without our pasts haunting us don’t we?” asked Rose a little desperately, wanting the woman to see they could exist in the same circle with no threat. “All I want is to live this life, with Sherlock, solving cases.” Rose told Mary, watching her intently. Mary weighed up Roses words, if they were truly in the same boat then maybe, just maybe, they had found the only other person who could truly understand what the other had gone through to have this life, and probably the only other person who would defend it just as zealously.

“I think we can mutually respect that the other has secrets and just live in the now.” said Mary finally.

The woman stared at each other a moment longer, each in their own way hardened warriors who had seen battle, who had lost and who wanted nothing more than to live a life now without a threat hanging over them.

“Well I'm glad we didn’t have this talk in the bra isle, because that would have totally taken away from the seriousness of it” stated Mary with bland humour breaking the tension and surprising a laugh from Rose.

“Yes,” said Rose, “I could really kill for a coffee right now, it’s been a very long day.”

Mary smiled and pointed to the section for tops, “Just a few more things and then I’ll introduce you to a mocha, chocolate in coffee, it’s a life saver when you’re around our boys too much.”

Rose grinned she liked the sound of our boys, like sisters in arms against the oft times overwhelming doctor/detective team. 

With the elephant in the room skun and hung on the wall Rose began to more honestly enjoy herself. Mary had an innate sense of style and didn’t blink at Roses complete lack of knowledge of the apparel that differed here compared to her other universes. Weighted down with bags of clothes and toiletries the women made a quick trip back to the car before making way to a café for an early dinner. Well not really early thought Rose, it was getting late. Ordering for them both Mary requested quiche and salad with mochas.

Leaning back both women relaxed, both noting with amusement that the other had positioned with their backs to a closed area, fronts to the open area but still curved around the table so that nearly all the visual area was covered between them. The hot drinks appeared soon and both drank them down gratefully, Rose was an instant mocha convert. Sighing happily Rose turned to observe the bustling street.

“So are you and John getting married soon?” asked Rose curiously. Mary smiled, as she did automatically whenever John was mentioned.

“In two months” said Mary happily, and then she giggled, “John is asking Sherlock to be his best man right now.”

Rose choked slightly on her mocha, imagining Sherlock attending the duties of a best man.

“Well that will be… interesting.” Said Rose giggling slightly, Marry grinned imagining the same.

Their snickers quietened when their dinner arrived and conversation revolved around the wedding as food disappeared quickly. Rose was delighted when Mary asked her to help with the wedding planning, she already had a maid of honour but said maid had a very demanding job and wasn’t able to help out as much as she would like. Rose was happy to fill the gap. Both women were quickly becoming comfortable with the other and were happy with the prospect of a friend who had that small understanding of the other that no one else quiet had.

Mary drained the last of her mocha and stood with reluctance, motioning for Rose to stand she said regretfully,

“Common, we still need to get you a phone, I don’t doubt Sherlock stipulated you need one, god forbid the man can’t get hold of you the moment he wants you.” Mary said rolling her eyes.

As she led the younger woman to the electronics store Mary watched her closely. Rose had the easy gait of someone who was fit and limber, her right hand sat slightly high and the muscles in her arms and shoulders were slightly more developed than your average woman’s would be. Mary could read easily that Rose was combat able, she may not deduce like Sherlock or asses as Rose apparently did but Mary was canny and instinctual enough to have survived to the age she had despite her previous profession. She was glad they had come to an understanding, Mary liked Rose and had no desire to have to remove her from the equation. She had enough on her plate without adding another threat to be dealt with. But in this pale girl with the odd feeling surrounding her Mary sensed a kindred spirit. Someone else who like her had been forced to fight tooth and nail for what they wanted in life and to keep it. Mary grinned as she watched a store clerk moved to try to help Rose and flirt in the process only to be rebuffed by Rose telling the man she was here at the request of her partner to get a phone. Rose had seemed as oblivious to the man’s flirting as Sherlock seemed to be in similar situations, how interesting Mary noted.

Mary’s phone sounded with a message alert, Marys eyes flickered over the text, smiling as John described Sherlock's reaction to his best man proposal, cringing yet giggling over the eyeball coffee. He was going to catch a cab home and hoped she wouldn’t be too late. Mary grinned at the suggestive end to the text. Looking over Mary saw Rose finish picking her phone and move to pay for it, when she presented her card Mary’s eyes widened in surprise, wondering if Rose knew what she had there. That card wasn’t something one saw very often, a credit card that colour was normally attached to an account that was close to bottomless. Noting that Rose had picked a fairly cheap phone Mary doubted she was aware, she debated telling Rose but decided it would make a nice surprise for a time when Sherlock upset the younger woman, it was bound to happen and spending his money would be a very nice way to cheer her up, Mary mentally chuckled to herself.

“All done?” asked Mary as Rose approached, electronics bag in hand.

“Yep all done, I think it’s time to go home and fall into bed, new pyjamas and all.” Rose smiled at the thought of clean pj’s and a soft pillow and maybe a nice sleep in if she was really lucky. Mary smiled in response and turned to head for her car.

“Did Sherlock take the request well?” Rose asked, indicating she had seen Mary read the text.

“Oh yes,” said Mary, “So well he dropped an eyeball into his coffee, forgot it was there and drank the coffee!” Rose burst out laughing at the image this created in her mind.

“Remind me never to shock him without a camera in my hand,” said Rose as the woman got into the car, both still chuckling.

-s-s-s-

“Are you sure you don’t want some help?” called Mary out her car window as Rose hauled all the bags to the door of 221B.

“No I'm fine! Thanks for everything.” called Rose back and waved goodbye, Mary waved back and pulled into traffic, eager to get home. Rose turned the door handle and pushed it open, lugging her bags through before turning to close it. Stopping for breath a moment Rose leaned against the door, debating her next step; talk to Sherlock or straight to bed? He would still probably want to know about the staring old man. Ah screw it, bed it was. She would deal with the detective after a full night’s sleep. Rose gathered her bags up again and started up the stairs. Rounding the last corner she stuck her head in to the living room to say a very quick good night to Sherlock. Spotting him in his chair and deep in thought Rose started to pull her head back preferring not to disturb him and make him grumpy.

“Your shopping trip looks to have been successful,” stated Sherlock, looking towards the red faced slightly breathless Rose.

“Yep” she said popping the p, “Heading straight to bed, it’s been a long day, goodnight.” Rose pulled her head back, not risking the chance Sherlock might want her to talk any more.

“Sleep well.’ Rose heard him call.

“Don’t forget to brush your teeth” Rose called back, finishing with a laugh.

In the living room Sherlock muttered to himself, “I swear the only thing that travels faster than bad news is gossip.”

Neither was aware of the long black limo pulling up to the front of 221B at that moment, or the events it heralded for their future.

 


	11. The Shock of His Life

  **I hope everyone is enjoying so far, I do love reviews of any sort so please let my know what you think**

 

 

 

Sherlock paced back towards his fireplace and stared down to it for a moment, this visitor had shed light on many things. The slightly altered behaviour of many important people that Sherlock had noticed, the slightest shift in power of the aristocracy and most importantly the person who had been watching Rose.

Sherlock had spent a good deal of time tonight perusing two lines of thought simultaneously, the revelation of John’s request for him to be his best man, thus learning that he had a best friend and digging through every slight detail of his memories fof emerging from Mycroft's office to leaving in the cab a few minutes later. Every moment had been combed over and then analysed again. He had walked the frozen scene in his memory, he had not stopped to look at Rose for any other reason than to look at her expression, to read the fear in her eyes, the protective hunching of her body and the hand she had moved toward his, almost seeking his strength. He turned from this refusing to acknowledge the pull he felt to go to her protectively, and paced and searched, and had come up with only one possible option. Across and to the right of Rose had been an older man, distinguished bearing, neatly trimmed and rimless glasses, high cheek bones and receding hair, standing by a dark car. This was the direction Rose had been looking but his next visual was of hailing the cab and when his sight was drawn to the man’s area again he had been gone, most likely into the car. Only when the aristocratic Lady standing in his living room had said the name of the man she was being black-mailed by had the pieces started to make sense, not the whole picture yet, but the outline.

“Charles Augustus Magnussen,” he was a newspaper tycoon, and apparent blackmailer.

“You are hardly even aware of his existence until he comes to you, normally” Lady Smallwood continued, “He was brought to our attention though due to repeated visits to Downing Street, it was felt he may have undesirable influence over the Prime Minister.”

“One would think any external influence was undesirable.” Sherlock commented dryly.

The Lady sent him a quelling look before continuing on, “We had a record of 7 meetings with the Prime Minister this year, he was questioned on this by a committee of eleven but he denied having influence over any government policy or the Prime Ministers thinking.” Lady Smallwood shuddered and halted in her retelling, Sherlock watched the distinguished woman with interest.

“It was the inquest that brought me to his attention, Magnussen came to my office to inform me had had in his possession letters that my husband wrote many years ago to a young girl. He was unaware at the time she was underage and the letters are quiet damning were they to be made public. Magnussen made it quite clear that with the ownership he has of these letters, came the ownership of me.” The Lady’s hand fluttered to her temple and traced down her left cheek in an odd and unconscious gesture. Sherlock had to wonder at the impression the paper owner had made to shake so severely a very powerful and confident woman.

Straitening her spine, Lady Smallwood seemed to draw her station around her like a protective shield and when she looked to Sherlock again she was every inch a member of the peerage and fully expected he would investigate the case she had brought him. To stop this man and retrieve the letters.

Sherlock instinctually rebelled at the expectation.

“This isn’t a case that can be picked up and solved immediately,” Sherlock stated turning away from the Lady, “I will take the case but it will be resolved in the time it will require, you cannot rush this one.” Sherlock stated unequivocally, daring the Lady to try and take such a matter to anyone else. Lady Smallwood stated at Sherlock a few moments then simply nodded her head.

“I will require updates on your progress.” The Lady said simply attempting to move the power back into her sphere and moved to the door way, but just before she descended the stairs she turned to Sherlock and said simply “Be careful.”

Sherlock watched the straight back of the Lady walk away without really seeing it, sunken into his mind Sherlock began to plan, there was research to do but a plan was already building. It was still missing a few crucial parts that he would need to forge and place but it was certainly a case worth the effort.

-s-s-s-

 

Rose shifted in her sleep, her hand still laid over the edge of the bed her bag was sitting. Something was reaching into her sleep, pulling her from the veil of unconscious and into the realm of sunlight, which was currently and rather rudely shafting through the curtains and straight on to her face.

“Damn it all,” she grumbled as thought began to emerge, shaking off the shackles of sleep, a face full of sun is really for people who actually enjoy mornings. Sitting up slightly and cocking her head a little Rose realised what had woken her and the morning didn’t seem quite so bad.

Violin music.

Beautiful, haunting and slightly eerie the sound almost seemed to call out to her though her half open door. As if it had been written and played just for her. Rose blinked at her thoughts and decided it was time for a cup of tea, she was obviously still slightly sleep addled.

 Rose got up and pulled on some of her new clothes, a soft pair of loose jeans, a thick strapped tank top and a very nice, soft, thick cotton long sleeved top, also in black. Rose had tried to pick most of her new clothes with her new profession in mind. Comfortable, easy to move in and easy to clean, it was hard to stain black. Sitting back on the bed Rose put on the new sneakers she had gotten, laces didn’t seem to be a big thing in this universe, most of the sneakers had been slip on or even had zips. Rose had picked a pair that were very comfortable and had two thick Velcro straps rather than a zip. Standing back up Rose gave her appearance a cursory look over in the full length mirror that made up the central panel of a three panel wardrobe, the panels on either side were the doors with old fashioned circle iron handles. Dismissing her appearance as satisfactory, as long as she brushed the birds nest on her head sometime soon, Rose turned back to her backpack.

Kneeling down on to the floor by it Rose let the ethereal sound of the violin surround her as she considered the pack and the small pile of clean clothes next to it. Mrs Hudson must have brought them in, Rose had been too tired the night before to notice much more than the bed she fell into and that her bag was still in place. Rose’s heart swelled with the music and she fought the urge to pick up the bag and hug it to her, the events in this world had moved so fast she could forget her grief for large stretches of time. Reaching a hand out and running it over the fabric Rose undid the flap on top and put the clean clothes inside, redoing the ties she stood up and turned to the wardrobe, opening the left panel she stopped, holding the bag. Her TARDIS key was at the bottom of the bag, it was so tempting to get it out to wear, one small reminder of her old life. She had put it in his bag when she lost him, unable to look at it or feel its weight resting against her heart. Rose stood for an endless moment, fighting not to give in. Finally she bent down and placed the bag in the center of the floor of the wardrobe, she wouldn’t forget her past, she never could forget the man, the men, who had been the center of her whole universe. But she couldn’t live in that past, couldn’t dwell on what she had lost, forward was the only way to go. She would cherish the memories she had, not let them grey her future, or the people who would be a part of it. Grasping the heavy handle of the door Rose pushed it closed.

Proud of herself Rose turned to the door only to find a grave looking Sherlock watching her. Jumping slightly Rose tried to figure out when the music had stopped and how long he had been watching her. Her eyes taking in his relaxed posture against her door frame.

“Only a few minutes.”

Rose’s eyebrows drew together and her face tightened slightly, her moods in the mornings were mercurial at best and his apparent mind reading drawn no doubt from ‘deducing’ her reactions annoyed her to no end at that particular moment.

“And with that expression I'm not staying,” Sherlock straitened and turned for the stairs, she was clearly wasn’t a morning person, although it wasn’t exactly early. While slightly slower than fleeing Sherlock made for the stairs, calling over his shoulder, “I found tea! And biscuits.” It was in no way a peace offering.

Sherlock retreated back to the window he had been standing at since he had emerged from his own room not long before. He had immediately picked up his violin and played whatever notes had come to hand as he went over the events and information from the night before. He had gone to bed after only a short stint on the internet last night, this was not a quick solve case so it would have been of no benefit to stay up and do any further research than he had done after the departure of Lady Smallwood. The primary route to Magnussen’s attention was easy but required a precise timing and situation that was not going to be available for some time. Sherlock had pushed aside the thought line when a whisper of noise intruded, Rose was up. How interesting, next to nothing could interrupt his focus when it was turned in-ways, except Rose it seemed.

Sherlock was still unsure if this was in any way a positive thing. Picking back up the instrument he had put down to go up and see Rose he pulled the bow along the strings in a reflection of the emotions his logical mind still could not understand but that clearly some part of him did. The music was aching and beautiful as he introverted his thoughts again, remembering the near sympathy he had felt while he had watched Rose hold her backpack tightly for a moment, almost desperately before straitening her shoulders and placing the bag in the wardrobe and closing the door with her head held high. He had watched her make decisions on where to take her life a few times since she had landed ungracefully in his flat, each time accepting a little more that her past was lost to her in all but memories. In that moment he had watched her not only put away the links that she knew would only hurt to hold on to too tightly, but smile at the thought of the future, seeming to believe it held enough to look forward to too be able to not look back. He was a part of that future she was smiling about.

The emotions that had roiled in him at that thought were brought back to the fore and his hands moved faster as the tempo in his music picked up in response.

He had wanted to believe he was a part of her reason to smile, he wanted to be in that future.

The music became more volatile as he struggled with the emotions, the thought of attachment or desire. The want to be connected with another person for the foreseeable future panicked him.

Melody harshened as he threw all his mental strength into controlling the feelings he had no room for in his controlled world, he was a man of logic and fact, he would not be ruled by human emotions that he could not even put a name to.

The music wailed in violent and twisting passion as Sherlock forced everything he couldn’t deal towards the rosewood door. He fought the twisting mass, feeling the strain across his shoulders and arms as the battle communicated to his playing. With a desperate heave Sherlock forced the emotions in to the room.

As the door slammed shut a resounding thunderclap that seemed to echo throughout his mind palace and the feeling of her aura battered his awareness and brought the music and his concentration to a shrieking halt.

Rose stood in the living room doorway staring at him with awe on her face, one hand covering her mouth Rose just gazed at him with amazement and almost reverence.

“Tea!” Sherlock said harshly, jabbing his bow in the direction of the tray on which the tea pot and biscuits sat.

He turned to the window again, having moved with his music Sherlock had ended up near his chair facing the kitchen. Taking a moment he simply looked out the window. His emotions were controlled, locked away. Sherlock refused to allow anything to happen again like that which had just occurred. Rose was to be nothing more than his partner, maybe one day his friend, he could not and would not allow her to be his weakness. Turning back to Rose watched her pour two cups of the tea that just seemed to appear there each morning. They needed a case, Sherlock needed to be able to better understand her abilities and training and their applications in his world and the cases he worked. Maybe he should go out and find something, perhaps drop in on Lestrade and make life hard until he gave him something good.

He needed a case.

Or a cigarette.

Rose stood up and brought a cup to Sherlock, she was half tempted to spike it, something stronger might calm whatever he had been in the grip of when she entered to find him playing his violin as if his world were coming to an end. His face had been contorted with the music and he had looked like he was playing the feelings he had locked in his soul. He seemed to be fighting a terrible enemy, having not realises he was fighting himself. As the music had reached its crescendo, he seemed to sense her presence and everything had come to a screaming jarring halt. The emotion in his face, his posture and his music had vanished, as if it was never existent but for the harsh word that tailed the very end. Rose moved over to the couch spot she had claimed and sat, curling her legs up under her. She sipped her tea and watched Sherlock over the rim of the cup, he had started to prowl around the room. She could see there was something going wrong with him, the very air around him vibrated with something that was almost distress.

He needed a case.

His brain needed a new focus. So much of his mind, more than he had realised, had been taken up by the emotions and feelings to do with Rose, that now that they were shut away a mass of space and brain power was freed and seeking work. Stimulus overload threatened his mind as every detail of everything around him screamed into his now unoccupied brain. The sounds of the different cars driving by the open window catalogued into his brain, the smells drifting in listed themselves over the top. His movements became even jerkier, throwing his violin bow from one hand to the other, as overwhelmed descended into overdrive.

He could feel her eyes following his movements.

She could see the tension in the line of his shoulders.

 “I need a case!” Sherlock shouted.

Rose continued to watch him silently, before flicking her eyes to who had Mrs Hudson appeared in the doorway, attracted by the violin noise that had recently ceased.

“Sherlock, you know you really need to be a little quieter so early…”

Sherlock turned on the old lady, red faced and volatile in his overwhelmed state.

“Not now Mrs Hudson, unless you have a case file concealed in that second-hand dress, I don’t want to hear it!” he ranted before turning from the pale woman and pacing back to the fire and leaning over to grip the mantle.

Rose got to her feet and walked calmly to the upset elderly lady, “Just go down stairs Mrs Hudson, its ok.” Rose reassured the woman and leaned a hand against her elbow, nudging her in the direction of the stairs, Mrs Hudson needed little pushing and gladly fled the stairs. Rose turned to the living room again to see Sherlock bearing down on her.

“It’s not ok! I need a case, your all solved your boring now! I need fresh mayhem, hasn’t anyone been murdered lately?!” Sherlock shouted, Rose doubted he had even realised just how close he had gotten to her or that he was now shouting in her face, and she was just about reaching her threshold of patience.

“Wait we still have you!” Sherlock shouted turning from her

“I’m all solved remember? I’ve got a new identity, new past even new clothes. Nothing left about me to constitute a case.” Rose stated gently, she was getting a sense of what was going on here, why he needed to work, why he needed the case. She had seen addicts go into overload similar to this when they couldn’t cope with the world and couldn’t get their next hit. He was an addict, just addicted to whatever kept his mind from descending into chaos.

“Your parents existed here, let’s find other people! You must have had friends, colleagues, ex-boyfriends even?” Sherlock leapt back to his laptop, his frantic energy slightly more focused now. Rose did not like where this was heading, her patience slipped a little further.

“I’m sure there is no one else here…” Sherlock jumped up again and paced back towards Rose, “Who was most important to you? Your Doctor seemed to be first on your mind let’s find him.”

Rose stilled, Sherlock didn’t notice.

“What was his name?”

“Just the Doctor.” Said Rose quietly.

“Just the Doctor? That’s it? You didn’t even know his name? Sounds like he was playing you really, be sure to check such things before jumping into bed in the future.”

CRACK

Sherlock's mind ground into utter stillness as the shock of the hit vibrated through his head, radiating out with the pain in his cheek.

Rose’s mind sped up to replace the detectives’ now inactive one. She had just slapped Sherlock Holmes, and not a light tap either, the hit had knocked him sideways and Rose’s hand felt like it was on fire. Well, on the offence it was she supposed, he had been seemingly quiet shocked out of his downward spiral, time to take action.

“That is enough! I get you need a case, but I’m not one! Finding any old friends is not on the table, they don’t exist! You don’t think I looked?” Rose threw in the lie amidst the shouting in desperate hope.

“You need a case so badly go out and find one! Don’t stay here wreaking the place and people! Now go out!” Rose finished her shouting and pointed towards the stairs.

Sherlock stared at Rose his mind still blank, his cheek was still pale from the hit but starting to redden rapidly. One synapse started firing and Sherlock felt that now was a good time to leave after all. Turning abruptly from Rose Sherlock strode towards the door, grabbing his coat off the hook on the way past and sweeping it across his shoulders on his way down the stairs. Reaching the front door he stepped through and closed it firmly behind him.

Rose stood in the living room, her arm still raised. She hoped she hadn’t broken him he was oddly delicate in his own way.

Sherlock stopped in front of the door he looked around him, hardly noticing anything. Still in shock he supposed, like slapping someone to stop them from drowning themselves in panic. His mind was nearly quiet, something he had never felt before in his life. The world wasn’t pressing on him, wasn’t forcing information on him from every angle. Well he supposed it probably wasn’t going to last much longer, he would go to Lestrade and find out if there was anything at all that could be interesting on the books. Throwing an arm out for a passing cab Sherlock got in, for the first time without deducing the drivers state, and gave him the police station address.

Staring out the window Sherlock hardly noticed the city pass by, the people were invisible and the conditions unimportant. He was too busy savouring the quiet of his mind. He had always fed the need of his mind with cases lately, there were times in the past when the over stimulation had been dulled with narcotics. He was too smart not to know what he was doing at the time, he had been dulling the overwhelming feeling of overdrive with the chemical high that helped shut down his senses, that had stopped the constant input. The shock Rose had given him was like nothing else though, never had he been taken out of a downward spiral like that.

As Sherlock thought through the effect of Rose’s hit, she certainly didn’t hit like a girl, the silence slowly started to recede, information started to filter into his brain again, but not overwhelmingly. As more information became available Sherlock dealt with it in turn, his mind didn’t become swamped, no overdrive was imminent. The slow filtering rather than the stunning onslaught allowed Sherlock to cope easily.

The cab pulled up about half a block away from the police department and Sherlock pulled some money out if his coat and passed it to the driver, who he still hadn’t deduced anything about, and got out. Sherlock started up the street, still regaining more of the input from his senses. He passed the homeless man at the corner of the police station and stopped. That wasn’t right.

Backing up Sherlock looked at the dirty man standing where there should have been a girl in her late teens, excellent pick pocket, one of the best. Sherlock had had her lift things from people for him before, especially when he had become so high profile.

“This isn’t your spot” Sherlock stated staring at the old man. There was a fairly strict code amoung the homeless. The man looked up at him blearily but shrewdly and held out his cup, shaking it slightly. Sherlock plunked a few coins from his pockets into the man’s cup.

“Sammy went an got ‘erself a nicer place didn’ she. Over in the park she is, nice spot, good pickins there. Ol’ Roger up’n died so she got his spot afor anyone else could.”

Sherlock was disappointed, Roger had been an important part of his network, he had watched lots of the comings and goings in the park for Sherlock, even directed the old woman who had bumped into Rose. He had been healthy for a homeless man, not into drugs or even much alcohol.

“How did he die?”

“E’ was one of them that got beaten to a pulp weren’t ‘e. Shame it was, normally it’s the younger ones they take.”

 “Take?”

“Yea, someone every coupla’ weeks, they just disappear like. Sometimes they come back, sometimes they don’, mosl’y turn up in tha’ storm drains, rats find em’ afor we do.”

Sherlock pulled a note from his jacket and put it in the man’s cup. “Thank you”

“Most obliged sir!” called the man to Sherlock's retreating back. Sherlock moved to a street that would take him a roundabout way home, there were people to talk to on the way. Sherlock could smell and interesting case in this one. It smelled ever so slightly like the sewers.

 

 

 

 


	12. Welcome to the Thunderdome

Rose finally lowered her arm after a few minutes of no Sherlock flying back up the stairs to demand just who Rose thought she was to send him from his own house. If she was very fortunate he would simply take their disagreement on-board and respect the line she had drawn. Rose doubted she was that lucky. Drawing in a deep breath and letting it out as a sigh Rose decided it had been too long a day already, today was a coffee kind of day.

Rose made her way forward to the kitchen, flicked the kettle on and began a search for something for breakfast. Opening the fridge Rose took out the milk, wondering if Sherlock was one of those bread in the fridge sort of guys, she hoped not. Opening the draw at the bottom of the fridge Rose pulled out a clip lock bag of severed fingers, crinkling her nose she put them back, not the sort of sandwich she was after. Finding no bread but some, sort of, almost not out of date milk, Rose figured she would just go with the coffee.

Pulling down the jar of coffee and scooping it liberally into a clean cup Rose added one sugar to be on the safe side and then the sightly sus milk, pouring the hot water in over the top produced a very heady aroma, clearly coffee here was nicer than the diesel like brew in the other universe. Turning Rose tried to bring a semblance of order to the table so she could sit down. Stacking all the empty beakers and tubes to one side, she gingerly nudged the ones with anything growing or glowing to the other.

Having cleared more than half of the table Rose sat and sipped her coffee, humming in pleasure at the much nicer than expected taste. Breathing deep as warmth settled into her chest Rose relaxed. Letting the tension leave her shoulders she rubbed her face and considered what to do with her day. Some research was probably due, she knew little to nothing about her new world, and any differences there may be really needed to be figured out quickly if she wanted to pass as a native with any credibility. Staring into her coffee Rose hoped she hadn’t killed the future she had managed to set up with one foolish impulsive and defensive reaction. Rose knew she would have to tell Sherlock the truth soon, but not yet. He had to see she was not just an interesting story, a mystery to figure out, she had skills that would be worthwhile to him and his cases.

Rose broke from her contemplation of the murky liquid at the sound of the front door closing and heavy steps fairly running up the stairs. Someone had way too much energy for this time of morning thought Rose wryly.

“Sherlock?” A man’s voice called out from the top of the stairs, “Your door was unlocked, again. You’re going to get broken into again, and I'm not going to look the other way when you beat some guy near to death again. Cause we both know he didn’t fall out that window more than once”

Rose’s ears perked up at that tidbit, so mister genius was capable of violence? Most extremely intelligent people knew the mechanics of fighting, the weak parts of the body, points of pain and the like, however few were actually likely of acting on the knowledge. In Roses experience the smarter the creature she had met, the less likely they seemed to be to resort to violence, was that also different here?

“He isn’t here.” Rose called, not wanting the man to leave, maybe he had other informative facts she would do well to know.

Said man stuck his head around the corner to the kitchen, blinking at the oddity of someone who wasn’t Sherlock sitting amongst the science paraphernalia. Sitting quiet comfortably, rather as if she belonged there.

“Uh hi” said Lestrade, just as puzzled as he seemed.

“Hi.” Said Rose with a bright grin standing up and moving to the kettle “Would you like a coffee?”

“Uh, well I was just looking for Sherlock, have a case for him to look at…” He had a pleasant voice, accented with the rougher middle class roll of the tongue and broadening of his words. He was well dressed greying short hair, gun and badge at his belt; it really wasn’t hard to tell who this was.

“He’s gone out” Rose replied, half done with the coffee as the kettle finished re-boiling, “Sugar?”

“Sure” said Lestrade finally, resigning himself to the fact that if the woman were in Sherlock's house, and quiet comfy there then she was probably about as capable of hearing a no as Sherlock was. She was also oddly familiar, he studied her for a moment, pretty with blonde hair, loose but well-fitting clothes. The clothes hid her figure to the lay-man but Lestrade was used to looking at someone to see if they were packing close to the skin and he could see she was slim but well defined. She seemed to handle herself with confidence, she was happy to invite him in for coffee without knowing him, she was either stupid or could look after herself.

“So Detective Inspector, what is this case you have for us?”

Or she knew him. Wait, us? Wait, Lestrade pulled the picture he had in his pocket out, Sherlock had never called again to call off the search for the mystery girl, or to even give them a last name. The last time he had actually seen her she had been laying on a couch, unconscious and much more dishevelled than she was now. She seemed so different awake and talking that he hadn’t even recognised her, despite the amount of times he had looked at the picture he had.

“You’re Rose! He found you all safe then, great job in letting us know, I’ve had men looking for you for days!.”

Rose looked to the slightly red faced Detective, “I'm sorry Detective, I didn’t know you had been called into look for me, Sherlock even forgot to tell John I was ok. Mycroft wanted to get better acquainted. I disagreed and tried to walk home. I got lost” Rose said not having to feign the embarrassment.

“Oh alright” feeling slightly mollified Lestrade let it drop, she hadn’t been at fault and chewing out Sherlock would be like banging his head against a wall.

“Sugar, Detective Inspector?”

“One please, and Greg is fine,” said the DI taking a step into the kitchen, feeling oddly drawn to this mysterious woman. He couldn’t put his finger on it but something tickled at his senses the closer he got to her.

“Greg,” repeated Rose with a smile, the DI shifted a little feeling like he was on the verge of blushing. Reaching out to take the coffee Rose was handing him, Greg took a seat on the other side of the table. He took a quick swallow of the fortifying brew and drew a breath, time for some answers.

“So I take it you have a last name now?” Greg asked

“Tyler,” said Rose with another smile, she quiet liked this gruff Inspector, he had the very genuine feel of a good soul who worked hard for the benefit of others.

“Seeing as how you put so much effort into finding an already found person would you like the whole story?” Rose asked, seeing as the man in front of her featured so prominently in Sherlock's life, whether he knew his name or not, Rose knew it was going to be important to get along well with the DI.

“Well you said us, so if you’re going to be working with Sherlock and coming onto my crime scenes then yea I’d like some background on you, considering we couldn’t find any… At all.” Added the DI.

“Ah yea I'm a bit non-existent aren’t I? Well there are reasons for that” Rose hedged before diving right into her story.

Rose started from the beginning, telling the DI about her boring life prior to the Broker finding her, her family and her boyfriend who had been a doctor called John, being found by Moriarty. At one point Greg had started to lift his cup but Rose reached the point of rejecting Moriarty’s offer and cup paused in amazement, and just kind of left it hanging in mid-air as the DI listened in awe to Rose’s ordeal of losing her family and all trace of her life to the insane criminal genius. Rose felt bad lying to the DI even if her story was true in essence, the details were pure fantasy.

Finishing her story and the now cold coffee Rose lowered her eyes to the empty cup and waited for the response of the DI.

Greg watched Rose speculatively, everything added up even if his years of detective work were telling him there was more. Rose seemed genuinely like she was without any other place or person in the world. It came through in the shadowed grief in her eyes when she spoke of her family and boyfriend.

“Well it sounds like your skills will help a lot.” Said the DI simply, indicating his acceptance of her story and her place in the dynamic of Baker Street.

Rose lifted her eye to smile at the DI, this time the poor detective did blush.

“So, you have a case for us?” Rose said, trying to spare the man who seemed to have descended into awkwardness.

“Uh yes, we got wind of an underground fighting ring through an informant but we can’t pin down a place or the people who might be running it, it seems to move around. Most the usual suspects seem to be steering clear of the whole deal. They don’t want anything to do with it and, shockingly, don’t have any information about it all.”

“Right” said Rose processing the information, she had seen fighting rings before, she and the Doctor had run into one on a far off planet whose slave labour class had used it to establish a hierarchy within themselves. Somehow though Rose doubted that would help here.

“Have you found any of the places that were used for the fights at all?” Rose asked, it was as good a place to start as any. 

“Just one, one of the last warehouses left in Canary Wharf, a basement a few levels down. You alright?”

Rose had shivered at the name, she supposed there would be enough similarities between the universes that she was bound to come across things like this, time to toughen up a bit. Looking back up to Greg she smiled again.

“I’m fine, I'm not very familiar with the area though, do you mind pointing it out on a map for me?” the DI nodded his consent and stood when Rose did, moving into the living room with her as Rose sat in front of the laptop to pull up a map of London that she would need to study anyway. Turning on the laptop Rose huffed to find it was password protected. Turning to Greg she indicated to the kitchen.

“Would you like some more coffee while I get this open?”

Raising his eyebrows at the thought of anyone being able to get into Sherlock's laptop he shrugged and went off to re-boil the kettle. Rose returned her eyes to the laptop and moved her hands over the keyboard, hoping this would work. Moving her fingers into a complicated pattern she pressed all seven buttons simultaneously and hoped for the best. The computer thought about it for a few seconds and then the desktop flashed into being. Rose grinned and pumped her arms into the air in victory. The Doctor had shown her that trick when they had settled into the new universe had he was forever changing the password on their home computer and forgetting to tell her. After their third disagreement on the topic he had shown her the override that would work on any computer that had under a certain level of security.

“I got in!” called Rose, Lestrade dropped the cup he was holding in surprise, though thankfully only into the sink. He hurried over as Rose pulled up a map of London and he pointed out the district in question. Rose scrolled to zoom in and he pointed out the warehouse they had identified. Of course it was right next to the building she knew so well, and had hated just as much.

“It’s a busy area,” the DI continued in full police mode, “But the site is three levels down, it seems like it was just an old stock warehouse, hardly been used in decades. Tiered with a low section in the middle.” He described. “Perfect for fighting.”

Rose nodded absently, this would be perfect for Sherlock, hardly anything to go on, random violence, perfect. Hopefully it could be solved before anyone else was forced to fight. She doubted such a ring was manned by volunteers.

“Has anyone gone missing lately?” Rose looked up to the DI who had moved closer to her back and lent down slightly to point to the map.

Lestrade looked down to Rose catching her eyes, “No one has been reported missing that wasn’t found in the last few weeks and the informer seemed to think this fight had gone down in the last few days.” Staying slightly hunched over he couldn’t seem to pull his eyes from Rose’s. The pull he felt earlier seemed to be radiating from her again. It was like nothing he had ever encountered before, an inaudible song that seemed to call out from her.

Rose looked up at the DI, slightly worried, how was she supposed to deal with this? She wasn’t stupid, she could see the interest he had in her in his eyes, she had noticed people seemed oddly attracted to her. Store clerks were more helpful than normal, the table she was at with Mary got served faster. She had encountered it to a much lesser degree in the other universe, the Doctor had told her that she stood out as different, not quiet native because she originated in another world, but close enough that is wasn’t to prominent. Clearly this world was even further away than she had thought. Rose parted her lips to ask another question of the DI to distract him from the path his mind was on. But as she did he mirrored her actions instinctively. Neither heard the stairs.

And that was how Sherlock walked in on them.

-s-s-s-

To say Sherlock was annoyed was an understatement. He had gone straight to Barts to look over the body of Roger but found that there was little to deduce aside from the fact he had taken a severe beating. Molly had shown him the body, it had been cleaned and laid out ready to be taken to the cemetery. There was little to no reason to investigate a homeless man who had most likely gotten into a fight and fallen into to the river and drowned afterwards. The cause of death did indeed show to be drowning, Roger had been alive but barely when he had gone into the river. There was no trace evidence because of the water. Sherlock looked closely at the bruising on the man, it had had enough time to develop past the initial redness and begin to colour, that told Sherlock he had been beaten some time before his plunge into the river. Due to transport from the location of the beating to the dump site, or had Roger gotten away and fallen into the river himself. The amount of bruising to the face that was coloured past the bruises on the lower body told him they were a little older than the others. There were very few contusions to the lower abdomen where the blows had gone that would have eventually killed Roger had the river not. This indicated the person who had beaten Roger knew what they were doing, they had kept him alive and conscious for the bulk of the beating, only doling out the fatal hits at the end, even then knowing he would not die for some time.

This had not been a random act of violence, he had gained insight to the perpetrator from his examination but was no closer to solving the mystery over all when he left the morgue. Molly had been happy to see him and inquired about Rose, and why she wasn’t here. He had ignored her questions. He arrived at Baker Street, having put the word to his network that he wanted information about any other missing homeless they knew about or any other events that could be connected.

Opening the front door quietly Sherlock decided he would ignore the incident from earlier, there was still too much about Rose he wanted to know to risk alienating her, and the results of her slap had given him a few moments peace like he had never known. He had no wish to relive the slap but perhaps there were other ways she could prevent his overloads. She would surely have more objects from the other worlds she had lived in, they would be an excellent source of diversion. Taking the stairs a few at a time Sherlock reached the top and moved to the door way while he began to remove his scarf but stopped dead mid action at the scene that was laid out before him.

Sherlock's mind did not grind to a halt nor did it stop processing at its lighting speed. He simply didn’t take note of most of what it was telling him. The moment of time in front of him was frozen as Sherlock viewed the two people and their position before him. He saw the apprehension on the face of Rose, the confused wonderment on the Detective Inspectors.

He looked at the DI leaned over Rose, her hunched and slightly vulnerable position under him and protective, possessive instincts roared to life within Sherlock that he had never truly felt the like of, only the echo of potential when he had found Rose missing and when he had thought she had been hurt.

Sherlock's eyes narrowed, his teeth bared slightly in an action identical to the previous very primitive reaction, but this time with so much more latent danger. Taking a step forward Sherlock angled his body towards the offending DI, that danger radiating off him in waves.

Few people were aware that Sherlock was easily capable of violence, he’d simply found it much more fulfilling to show his mental superiority. One did not have all the knowledge he had and not know how to kill someone in a few simple moves. His logical, rational mind went unheard however through the deafening roar of the blood pounding through Sherlock's veins as the first possessively protective episode he had ever truly felt held him captive.

He had never felt this, and so had no way of controlling it or his reaction to it. His normally light eyes had darkened to nearly match his dilated pupils. Hands that had long ago dropped from his scarf had fisted at his sides as he took another step towards Lestrade. The deep voice Sherlock normally used to deal out observation and deduction emanated as only a growl, rumbling and utterly foreign compared to anything ever uttered before in his life.

Rose felt the growl Sherlock unleashed right to her toes, never had she seen any being exude such sudden menace. The Doctor had been a dangerous being but it had come out snarky and sarcastic until that moment he struck, dealing the blow with a plan that had been all but hidden. But this, this was animalistic and raw. Sherlock had clearly never reacted like this before so it came out unaltered and true to the raging emotions he seemed to be going through. Rose felt the moment that torrent turned on a target, every bit of the danger emanating from the uncontrolled, and at that moment borderline psychopath, directed toward Detective Inspector Lestrade. The DI raised his hands in a defensive gesture.

Rose realised abruptly this was another sort of spiral, one he didn’t even realise he was in. Well she supposed if he was capable of spiralling in one direction there is nothing to say he wasn’t prone to spiral in another if the right trigger where there. She stood up and moved between the detective and the genius, unknowingly removing herself from the very situation that had triggered the violent reaction. She knew he was over reacting again, to a situation he had no way of coping with and she doubted slapping him again would be so well received this time. A different type of on-the-offensive may work though.

Rose threw out her arms in a dramatic gesture, landing them on her hips, waiting a heartbeat until Sherlock's attention had been focused on her before saying in a very loud voice

“Where have you been!? I’ve been waiting ALL morning for you to get home, I had no idea where you might be, what if you had gotten hurt?! I had no idea where you were.” Rose finished repeating shrilly, feeling very much like she was channelling her mother.

Sherlock blinked at the sudden assault on his ears, the shrill rebukes so absurd his mind seized the preposterous idea that he was supposed to clear his movements with anyone and changed track in the blink of an eye.

“I am not required in any way shape of form to inform you of my movements.” Sherlock informed Rose arrogantly. Rose grinned in relief, clearly insulting his ego was a sure fire way to counter such an overreaction should it happen again in the future. The atmosphere of the room cleared like a gale had blown through it, jeeze thought Rose; she was going to end up with whiplash if he could change moods on his own that fast.

This was becoming entirely too much, thought Sherlock irritably at his actions, this is why feelings are the downfall of every man. To help slam the door on the unknown emotions that had assaulted his mind Sherlock seized on the one safe object in the room that was not as it should have been.

“You had better have a very good reason to be using my laptop.” Sherlock said in a deep calm voice, Rose latched on to the calm in the voice, which was developing a terrible habit of melting her bones, and emulated it.

“I don’t have one of my own.” She stated simply, as if that accounted for everything thought Sherlock peevishly. She moved back to the table and retook her seat.

“How did you get into it?”

“Skills” she replied enigmatically with a smirk in his direction. This woman would be the death of what little patience he had. Sherlock turned to Lestrade who had dropped his hands but had not moved and was watching the play between them with a perplexed countenance.

“Why are you here?”

“Got a case you might be interested in.”

“I have one already” Rose looked up at Sherlock in surprise, had he actually managed to find a case after only just over an hour on the streets? What was she thinking, of course he had. She waited silently for him to elaborate, Lestrade looked at him expectantly.

Sherlock looked back at them both, his ego once again reassured that he was the lead here.

“Homeless people, going missing, being taken I presume, and showing up beaten to death.”

Rose and Lestrade looked at each other, the links connecting in their minds, it didn’t take the resident genius to see the connection in these cases, but Rose beat Lestrade to the verbal punch.

“That’s why you can’t find anyone missing, no one would report the homeless missing, and their deaths would hardly count as suspicious either!”

“But it still doesn’t give us who are doing it or where they are doing it, we only have one site and this might have been going on for months.”

“What are you two babbling about?!” Sherlock shouted over the two’s overlapping sentences.

Rose raised an eyebrow at the rude behaviour, someone was clearly miffed.

Lestrade, perhaps hoping to avoid another episode like the one a few minutes previously, jumped in and explained the case in a few short words.

Sherlock listened and was still for a few seconds then raised his hands to his head suddenly.

“Oh yes! That’s it!” he turned to Rose fully ran the few steps in her direction. Rose squeaked in shock as he seized the edge of the wooden chair between her legs and the top rung behind her and pushed the whole things over a few inches. Turning from her he knelt to the laptop and began to type furiously.

Rose lifted mystified eyes from the hunched Sherlock to the DI who was watching him intently. Looking at her Greg just shrugged and said,

“Don’t worry you’ll get used to it.”

Rose looked back to Sherlock and what she could see of the screen. What looked like property records flashed across the screen, old building plans, weather reports and for some odd reason school reports.

“There,” pronounced Sherlock pointing at the jumble of information and windows on his screen. “We are looking for someone in the latest generation of the Elite.”

“How the hell do you figure that?” exclaimed Lestrade.

“Well it’s elementary really…”

Rose rolled her eyes he hadn’t really just said that had he? Oh today was getting to be way to long for not even being 10 o’clock.

 

 

 

 


	13. Acerbic

A/N: I have begun another fanfic in the last few days, I have come to the conclusion that trying to force my focus on one fanfic all the time was not a good thing so I'm spreading my time now. This will hopefully lead to more frequent updates. Please pop over and read my new fanfic, it’s a Loki/Rose story; let me know what you think. Thank you to everyone who is always showing support and encouraging me J

**see if you can find the transplant**

Standard Disclaimer.

Chapter 13. Acerbic

Rose gazed at the ceiling as Sherlock explained his deductions to Lestrade, she could hear the words he was saying but tuned out their meaning for the time being, she wondered idly if it were possible to smother someone with their own arrogance. Though she supposed if it where someone would have killed off the Doctor centuries ago. Rose caught words like access and building ownership, boredom and class division.

Rose was just wondering if she could sneak away when Lestrade straightened from his bent position looking at Sherlock's screen and announced

“Right then, I’ll start the search for places that match that description and get back to you.”

Rose jumped out of her seat, “I’ll walk you down,” she exclaimed, a breath of fresh air would do her wonders, the cold would hopefully be enough to clear the throb that had started behind her temples from simply too much going on so early. Lestrade glanced at her then Sherlock before nodding slightly and moving towards the doorway leading to the stairs.

Sherlock looked up and a tiny muscle under his right eye twitched in ways, almost the beginning of narrowing his eyes at the sight of Rose leaving with the DI so soon after his emotional outburst. He may have very successfully pushed all the feelings behind the rosewood door but their aftermath was still raw and Sherlock could not remove the memory of the flicker of appreciation he saw in Lestrades eyes when he looked at Rose, his mind would not allow it.

Sherlock got to his feet and ghosted to the stairs to listen to the talk between the two.

“So Ms Tyler,” Lestrade began,

“Rose, please,” said Rose with a smile, the DI flushed very slightly and nodded then looked back towards the stairs they were descending.

“I hope you’re settling in well.” The DI continued, “If you need help at all give me a ring, I'm sure you'll be fine but always happy to help. ‘Specially seeing as it looks like you’ll be helping Sherlock on cases.”

Rose smiled and reached out to take the card the DI had produced and was holding out to her, they had come to a stop on the stairs.

Sherlock had had just about enough; they had a case to be getting along with after all.

“How is your wife these days Lestrade? I noted you lacked a wedding ring when I came back from ‘death’ as it were.” Sherlock called down the stairs.

Lestrade flushed angrily this time but didn’t bother to shout at the consultant, it would do him no good and one of them needed to be the adult.

“Divorced thanks Sherlock.” He looked back to Rose, “See you later Rose,”

“Bye Greg.” Replied Rose with a smile as she watched him go out through the front door before turning now narrowed eyes on Sherlock. Said genius pulled his head back over the rail quickly and dived back into the living room. Rose set her mouth with determination, so much for some nice bracing cold air. Time for a wee talk about boundaries Rose thought, she could go head on with a near millennia old alien, one earth bound high functioning sociopath wasn’t going to determine with whom she interacted.

Cresting the top of the stairs Rose walked with determination into the living room and opened her mouth to give Sherlock the dressing down of his life only to find herself stymied. Sherlock held a hand up to Rose with a single finger extended to indicate she should remain quiet, a phone held to his ear.

“Yes Molly I want the files on every death of a homeless person in the last six months.” He waited a moment, listening. “Yes I know that’s a lot, I don’t need the hard copies just bring them up on the computer I will be there presently.” Sherlock hung up the phone and turned away from Rose, pointedly ignoring her.

Rose felt her anger swell, snap and crackle, like ricebubbles in milk. As her emotions surged so too did the aura around her, that different feeling about her sharpening and seeming almost to shimmer with electricity.  Sherlock stilled from shutting the lid of his laptop down as he felt the odd disturbance in the air, he turned to look back at Rose and his brow creased in surprise. He could see she was angry, literally see and feel the anger in the almost light haze like aura surrounding her. Clearly, Sherlock deduced, now that Rose’s scrambled being had settled in to this universe the differences about her had become more pronounced.

“Now look here Sherlock, I don’t know what was going on before but you and your uncalled for possessiveness is not going dictate who I hang out with…”

“Possessiveness?” questioned Sherlock incredulously, a small part of his mind curious as to what would happen if he pushed her anger further. Just how powerful could these differences in Rose become? Enough to be detectable by others?

“I have been reliably informed I don’t have enough caring to befriend people let alone feel jealousy over someone I’ve known under a week, do settle down before something catches fire.” Sherlock remarked knowing full well his remarks would incite her anger further.

“Not jealous?” sputtered Rose, “You bloody _growled_ at Greg! Your average human doesn’t tend to growl at people.” Roses fists clenched and her emotions vibrated harder within her and the air around her did the same. How dare the arrogant sod turn this on her. Sherlock watched with fascination as the haze got a bit denser and realised he was starting to feel angry as well. Sherlock examined this emotion with puzzlement, he had no reason to feel anger, the opposite in fact, he was interested in what was going on, his anger at Lestrade long forgotten. Yet anger he felt.

With a startled jerk of his head Sherlock realised it was Roses anger he must be feeling. Everybody was overcome with change when in the grip of strong emotion, chemicals and hormones surged, the heart raced and the temperature elevated. Clearly these changes within a creature from a universe different to the one in which she currently resided was disturbing enough to the atoms around her that differed to her own enough to cause a visible and feel-able disturbance.

Sherlock supposed his experiment had gone far enough for now; he reached out a hand and softened his voice to a timber he had noticed affected females in the past.

“Calm down Rose, your anger is affecting me and the air around you.” He reached his hand further into her space, feeling the tiny distortion in the air around her, like feathers brushing his skin. Her long sleeved shirt had fallen slightly from one shoulder and he touched the tips of his fingers to near the curve of her neck, above her clavicle. Only the iron grip he held on to over his emotions to keep Rose’s anger from swamping him helped him to prevent a flinch as an odd tingling sensation ran up his fingers from where he touched her skin.

“You must learn to control your emotions or someone is going to see you’re not of the norm.” said Sherlock in a deep and soothing voice, he appealed to her fear of discovery to counter her anger.

Rose flicked her eyes to the shoulder that the arm that was touching her extended from and back to his eyes, her breathing stilled as fear replaced the anger very quickly. The muscles tightened under his fingers for a moment and both were reminded of the sensation felt at the contact of his skin to hers. A new emotion rose up to replace the anger and Rose stepped out from his touch before he felt that too.

Rose hastily moved to the coat rack and grabbed her hat and gloves before turning to Sherlock, who had dropped his arm and was watching her intently.

“Well let’s get to looking at those files, Molly will be waiting for us.” Without waiting for an answer Rose turned and practically ran down the stairs. Sherlock stood a moment longer, hummed to himself for a moment before making sure his own warm clothing was back in place and following at a slower pace down the stairs.

-s-s-s-

The cab ride to St Barts was quiet as Sherlock reflected on what they knew so far on the case, glad his mind was finally back where it belonged. Rose spent the time trying to memorise the route to the hospital as she figured it would become a frequent stopping place. She failed at it dismally.

“There is a number of books at home you can use to use too much more efficiency I would think than trying to visually memorise these paths.” Sherlock commented without looking at Rose.

“Shut up Sherlock,” Rose muttered, she really just wanted to get to the morgue and see Molly, a friendly face would be very comforting right now, rather that the defensive wit of a mercurial genius.

Sherlock huffed in response and went back to deducing the identity of the cabbie’s wife and two girlfriends. Was no one monogamous these days?

The cab arrived at the hospital and Sherlock led Rose down to the morgue, Molly looked up and smiled at the two as they entered the doors to the body storage area.

“Go through to the lab,” instructed Molly “I pulled the files you wanted and split them between the two computers.” Sherlock just nodded and headed off in the direction of the lab door, Rose hung back and approached Molly. The pathologist’s smile widened as Rose approached her, waiting silently to see what she was going to say.

“I… I was wondering if you wanted to maybe… um hangout later?” Rose stuttered a little, very unusually nervous, Rose hadn’t realised just how much she was going to need other friends outside Baker Street until the moment she had begun the sentence. Rose had if nothing else learnt from her loves and losses of her Doctors that she needed to have more than one important person in her life, her mum and Mickey weren’t here so Rose needed to foster friendships and she liked Molly. 

“Oh! Oh I’d love to, we could have a coffee or something” Molly looked delighted at the prospect and Rose smiled in relief and happiness.

“That’s great! I’ll meet you somewhere… um I’ll…” Rose trailed off, not sure where she could find successfully to meet the other woman.

“I’ll come get you if you like?” jumped in Molly quickly, simply figuring Rose hadn’t spent much time in the areas around Sherlock's house, London was huge after all and Rose’s accent wasn’t exactly highbrow.

“Yes, excellent, thanks I’ll see you later.” Rose smiled at Molly who grinned happily in return. Rose turned and headed through the door where Sherlock had gone. She found the second computer next to Sherlock's and settled in. The detective didn’t so much as flick an eye in her direction, already absorbed in his work. Rose pulled up the first file wrinkling her nose at the graphic pictures that accompanied the report, she moved her eyes to the writing and began to read.

-s-s-s-

Hours later Molly stuck her head through the lab door, not surprised to see the two investigators still bent over the computers, Sherlock looking as focused as ever and Rose looking very worn out. Pulling back Molly made her way to the break room to make the two some coffee.

Coming back through the door Molly approached them with a cup in each hand. Rose’s nose twitched and she leapt from the stool and jumped across the small space that separated Molly and herself. Practically cooing with delight Rose accepted the cup from the amused pathologist and sipped it gratefully. Sherlock accepted the cup absently as he drew his last conclusions and shut down the files.

“Right,” he said getting to his feet and putting down his untouched cup, “Time to be off, Lestrade has left the crime scene open to us.”

And with that Sherlock strode from the lab and towards the hospital entrance. Rose turned to Molly and drained her coffee quickly, irked at the rude behaviour. Molly’s brows drew together as she began to as well unaccustomedly feel annoyed with Sherlock.

“Thank you for the files and the coffee,” said Rose brightly, “I’ll see you tonight” Molly smiled in response and Rose walked quickly to the door, trying to catch up with the long legged Sherlock.

Hopping into the cab he had already hailed and seating herself Rose turned to Sherlock

“You should try not being so rude Sherlock. Molly does a lot to help you and acknowledgement is the least you can do, even try being nice.”

“Canary Wharf,” Sherlock instructed the driver before turning to look at Rose. His gaze was cool, assessing.

“I am not a nice man,” stated Sherlock flatly “It is important you understand that, it’s going to save you a great deal of time and effort. You will not find a nicer, warmer person beneath the surface, I am acerbic. It, this” he indicated himself, “Is who I am and it is a benefit to this work far more often than it is an impediment. It is something you will grow accustom too, John did. You may even consider adopting such a demeanour yourself. It will aid in your emotional control.”

Sherlock finished his speech with such certainty he almost believed what he had said. Rose merely gazed at him, Sherlock could feel no disturbances in the air around her to indicate the anger he was expecting.  

Then a tinge of sadness touched him.

“You really are so like him,” Rose said softly her hand lifting for a moment as if to touch him before dropping it back down.

“He tried so hard to feel nothing as well, to seem impenetrable so no one saw the pain at the center.” She continued to gaze at him and her sadness grew, he felt it.

“You can’t fool me Sherlock, so how long can you keep fooling yourself?” Rose turned her eyes back to the city on the other side of the window, emotions pulling away.

Sherlock was still staring at Rose in confusion when the cab pulled up to their destination.

-s-s-s-

Ducking under the tape the two entered the basement the fight had taken place, the gloom only fought off by the lights on stands the police had set up. Rose looked about at the scuffed floor and papers scattered about, what looked suspiciously like a pool of dried blood lay in a puddle in the center of the low laying floor. Rose took a step forward only to collide with the arm Sherlock threw out to prevent her forward momentum. Rubbing her chin Rose started to feel annoyed again.

“Quite!” barked Sherlock.

“I didn’t say anything” huffed Rose indignantly

“Everything from your thinking to your feelings are just too loud, stay there, be quiet and don’t touch anything.”

Rose crossed her arms and glared at the coat clad back walking away from her towards the center of the room.

“Stop glaring at me”

Rose flicked her eyes to the floor, trying to contain her ire via distraction studying the foot prints she could see around the outer and highest ring. The whole place looked similar to the ancient Greek out door theatres she had seen in pictures but on a much smaller scale. Five descending circular steps, all big enough to sit on or stand in the space before the drop to the next level, perfect for a spectator sport.

Hardly any clear and whole foot prints could really be seen but Rose could make out a few outlines of large men’s shoes. They had clear round edges and delicate patterns on the soles. Rose guessed if Sherlock was right about the status of the spectators it made sense they would be wearing rich looking shoes. Rose did find one clear impression very near the back wall that was obviously a female high heel. Interesting, Rose thought, underground fighting wasn’t something she would have associated with a female attendance. But she supposed that was a silly thought; there were all sorts in every gender.

A foot or so further on there was a small clipping of paper, Rose looked at it in confusion, it was a lonely hearts ad. It looked normal, man seeking feisty woman age 20 to 30. Mobile number was at the bottom. Standard if somewhat sparse, but what on earth was it doing here? Rose looked at it closer, there was something odd about it but she couldn’t put her finger on it. Looking for someone feisty wasn’t that odd, if somewhat forward considering the sparcity of the rest of the words. Rose just couldn’t pin down what seemed off about it. Dismissing it for now Rose put the ad in her pocket.

Looking back towards the center of the room Rose could see Sherlock peering at the ground through a small pocket magnifying glass. Rose watched with fascination as his eyes raised and flicked over every part of the room, circling it at one level then the next, missing nothing. He breathed deep, each sense feeding him information. Rose giggled to herself, wondering if he could ever smell cooking chicken at times like this.

The sound snapped his head around and he gazed at Rose like he had forgotten she was there. He had never forgotten though, the sense of her had never left him, a tingling playing at the edge of his senses. Categorising the information and deductions he had gathered in a split second he moved towards Rose, she looked happier than when they had entered and there was a thin layer of dust on the tips of the fingers of one hand.

“What have you found?” he asked coming to stand next to her. Rose eyed him in surprise that he would put any stock in anything she might find.

Rose pulled the paper scrap from her pocket and handed it to Sherlock. “It’s just one of those personal ad things, seems funny though. Really blunt.” She commented.

Sherlock looked at the paper, flicking through every code and permutation in his mind of what it could mean. It wasn’t a coincidence that the paper was here. As his brother liked to say, the universe was rarely so lazy.

“There is a code here somewhere there must be, buried in the advertisement, some way they had of communicating the time and place of the next fight.”

“Sounds like a lot of thinking for a bunch of bored rich kids to do,” remarked Rose wandering over to the edge of a seat to look at a liquid stain, probably alcohol of some sort.

Rose had never been a great shakes at codes from earth. She was surprisingly good at recognising alien symbolic languages and codes, even reading them a little. But earth ones never failed to confuse her. Rose pulled out her new phone to take a picture of the stain, it had a very odd shape who knows it might mean something. Then something occurred to Rose as she looked at the phone in her hand.

Sherlock paused, she was right he was making it too complicated with military ciphers and codes. These people would use something simpler, something everyone in the group would be able to spot and read. Looking back to the scrap Sherlock looked for anything out of place, anything different than it should be.

Rose walked back over, phone still in hand, and plucked the paper from his fingers. He opened his mouth to chastise her actions only to have it snap shut at her next words.

“Do the ads in this, ahem ‘city’ always put the mobile numbers in digit pairs? I mean usually it’s just the whole number, not all these spaces every other number. And there’s an extra one.” She looked up to him expectantly.

Sherlock just stared at Rose in dismay, the sinking feeling he had was not reassuring. She was not going to forget spotting something before him for a long time.

The muscle under his eye twitched.

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
